Chapter 16
Matteo Ricco
Whether she’s naked in my arms, wearing an oversized, threadbare t-shirt as she washes my clothes in her ridiculous yet ingenious mini travel washer, donning her most professional pantsuit as she serves Ms. Lynn her lawsuit paperwork, or dressed in the most expensive black gown money can buy, she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.
Brook Simons steals my breath no matter where we are or what we’re doing.
Just this morning, she ended my secretary’s career with brutal swiftness. I wish I could have enjoyed the pleasure sooner, but we needed to recruit a new hire before we vacated Ms. Lynn’s position.
Now she emerges from the private bathroom in my office and scrutinizes her reflection. I cannot fathom what about the black dress displeases her. She’s exquisite.
I tell her so. She rolls her eyes and gestures toward the exit.
“I’d look better if my asshole boss didn’t make me work overtime and my boyfriend didn’t steal the two hours I was supposed to spend on my makeup and hair,” she grumbles.
I hook my arm around her waist and pull her close. She stumbles and squeaks, and I vow to take advantage of her heels and make her repeat the sound many more times tonight. I spear my fingers through her hair and tilt her head back.
“I didn’t hear you complaining earlier and you made plenty of noise, little rabbit,” I say with a satisfied smirk.
We made the office filthy. The scent of sex still lingers in the air. I have zero regrets, and neither does she, but she blocks my attempt to kiss her with her hand.
“We’re already late, and I’m sore as hell, too. I should be invading your house and demanding a long, hot soak in that ridiculous bathtub, but we can’t let everyone’s hard work go to waste. Let’s go,” she insists.
She’s a woman after my own heart. She understands what it means to be a trustworthy, reliable professional. I won’t have anyone else by my side and under my sheets except for her.
“Come home with me after and you’ll get that soak,” I promise.
She looks toward the ceiling in mock contemplation.
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” she goads.
I growl and lift her in a cradle hold. She balks.
“You’ll be on your feet enough at the party. I’m saving your toes. Hold on to me, little rabbit,” I demand.
She huffs but wraps her arms around my nape. Her purse bounces against my back as I carry her to the elevator.
We arrive later than most of the patrons, but we aren’t attending to steal the show. A bit of socializing and mentioning my company’s progress should be enough attention to boost awareness and sales.
Our company. As soon as she accepts my proposal, I’ll hand her the documents to sign to make her a co-owner with majority shares.
I’ve already rewritten my will to make her the main benefactor should an accident occur.
Her lack of interest over my monetary assets makes her the perfect candidate.
Yet another thing I have zero regrets over.
I open her car door and offer her my hand.
She accepts and rises from the vehicle. When I tug her against my side, she slips her arm around my back.
As cameras flash and reporters call out questions, she fists the back of my coat and glares at me for a moment before pasting a serene smile on her face.
Ah. I didn’t explain the level of exposure. I won’t fail to do so again, even though she slips into the role of arm candy with impressive ease.
I answer a few pertinent questions, then ignore the yelling and lead my woman through the chaos to the entrance.
We step into the opulent ballroom with as little fanfare as I can manage, but my success is well-known, so a stream of socialites flock toward us the moment we enter. Brook makes small talk and smiles, but she holds onto the back of my suit like it’s a lifeline.
This may be worse than the presentations the teachers forced us to give in high school, and she had no preparation.
With no outline or script to follow, she must want to run as far away as possible.
When she glances around in search of an exit for the third time, I excuse us from the crowd and lead her to a table on the quieter side of the room.
“I am never coming to one of these ever again,” she declares.
“I’m sorry, little rabbit. I didn’t bring you here to torture you, I promise. I genuinely forgot you weren’t used to this. You’re so adept at work I forget you’re opposed to crowds,” I say.
She sighs and pats the back of my hand.
“Your ability to praise and insult me at the same time is impressive. Can we just sit in silence and people watch for a few minutes?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say.
When a group begins eyeing us as though they might come say hello, I drape my arm along the back of her seat and lean toward her as though to whisper a secret. She clues in to the act and ducks her head conspiratorially with mine.
Despite all the glittering jewelry and sophisticated gowns, Brook’s mind captures my full attention.
“You’re the most stunning woman here, little rabbit. I can’t wait to get you back in the car,” I whisper into her ear.
Goosebumps rise on her shoulders. I slip my hand onto her thigh.
She sucks in a breath as need sparks to life in her eyes. Her breasts pillow against the top of her dress. The corset-style bodice ensures she won’t flash anyone, but the strapless effect drives me crazy. I long to nibble on and caress her exposed flesh.
“Not here, Matteo.”
My name on her lips has me half hard in the blink of an eye.
“Well, this is a surprise.”
My brother’s voice douses my arousal. Brook freezes before pushing my hand off her leg and leaning back. I cup her shoulder. The knot in my stomach loosens when she reaches up and covers my hand with hers, not to push me away but to cling to me.
“I never thought I’d see you here, Brook. Looks like my lil bro upgraded his plus one,” Angelo says.
I swing my gaze toward him and lift a brow.
“And where’s your plus one?” I ask.
He shrugs and pulls out the chair on the opposite side of Brook. The incredulous look she gives him warms my heart.
“She’s powdering her nose or whatever it is women do in the bathroom nowadays,” he says.
When he props his elbow on the table and unapologetically looks Brook over, I fight a visceral need to commit a felony.
“It’s good to see you’re okay, Brook. Everyone at the class reunion was worried about you,” he says.
She gives him a tight smile.
“It was a wild night, wasn’t it? I’m touched they’re concerned about me, even though no one except Matteo helped me,” she says.
Angelo tilts his head in exaggerated inquiry.
“Why would you need help? You looked like you were having fun to me,” he says.
She leans forward, mimicking his posture, and by the glint in her eyes, I know she’s about to land a killing blow.
“Fun? I recall climbing onto the table just to escape you. Can you imagine if your brother hadn’t caught me?”
He leans back, props an elbow on the back of his seat, and grabs his chest in mock pain.
“You wound me, Ms. Prescott. Escape me?” he gasps.
Despite his relaxed posture, the twisted gleam in his eyes as he studies Brook sours my gut. He anticipated her reaction, which means he remembers her declaration.
I’m not a Prescott. I’m a lawyer.
He wants her fuming.
Although she smiles, disdain shines from her eyes.
“Unfortunately, yes. Although I won’t embarrass your brother by climbing onto the table tonight, I must find another escape again. Excuse me,” she says.
Her icy tone fills me with awe. I cannot recall the last time someone spoke so harshly to my brother, and no one has ever done so on my behalf.
She stands. I rise with her.
“Thank our classmates for me. I hope the next time we meet you’ll have learned some manners,” she says.
“Manners? I—”
“Goodbye, Angelo,” I interrupt.
Already with her back to him, Brook slips her hand into the crook of my elbow. I lead her away, happy to assist in her escape again even though having her in my arms was way more fun.
I bend my head and murmur for her ears alone, “No table. No lap. No kiss. Please tell me this escape at least includes your sharp little teeth later.”
A wicked smirk brightens her expression.
“We’ll see. I wasn’t in my right mind last time,” she says.
I growl and wrap my arm behind her back to curl my fingers into her waist.
“Don’t pretend you weren’t clawing my back to shreds less than two hours ago,” I hiss.
“Oh, I totally was, but that doesn’t guarantee I’ll—”
She jerks to a halt. Her eyes widen.
I follow her gaze and bite back a curse.
Chad Prescott, the man who abandoned Brook and her sick mother, meanders through the crowd as though he’s the most important person in the room. A woman with blonde hair and more plastic body parts than real ones clings to his arm and beams at everyone who glances their way.
I glimpse a vaguely familiar face in the crowd behind them, but Brook’s ragged breathing steals my attention.
I urge her forward and veer away from her father toward the balcony.
The chilly evening air washes over my face, highlighting how much my suit holds in my body heat.
I lead my little rabbit to a section of railing off to the side with the least amount of lighting.
When she rubs her naked arms, I shrug out of my coat and drape it over her shoulders.
An appreciative smile ghosts across her lips but doesn’t breach the turmoil in her eyes. I weave my fingers through hers and prop my forearms on the railing.
She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths before turning her face toward mine.
“I’m okay, truly. I knew I might see him here, but…” she shrugs.
“We can leave right now,” I say.
She gnaws on the inside of her lip for a moment as she considers but ultimately shakes her head.
“Maybe he’ll freak out and make a mistake if he realizes I’m with you,” she says.
“We don’t want to reveal our intentions too early, though,” I argue.
She quirks a brow.
“Our intentions?” she asks.