Pamela Yaye - Seduced By The Tycoon At Christmas

“Bellisa is my breakfast,” he said with a throaty laugh. “I’ll give you a ring in the afternoon, but promise me you’ll give some thought to what I said about Lizabeth.”

“There’s nothing to think about.” Switching lanes, Romeo punched the gas. “I’m not giving her a damn thing.”

“A million euros is chump change to you.”

“Dammit, Giuseppe, it’s not about the money.”

Making a right turn, Romeo heard something hit the passenger-side door and slammed on the brakes. Frowning, he peered in the rearview mirror. His heart stopped. His cell phone fell from his hands and dropped to his feet. Fearing the worst, Romeo took off his seat belt, threw open his car door and ran around the trunk.

Romeo surveyed the scene. A purple mountain bike lay in a tangled heap on the road along with the contents of a handbag. A woman of Caribbean descent with caramel-brown skin, delicate facial features and waist-length black braids sat on the sidewalk, shaking uncontrollably. Filled with concern, he moved toward her, speaking in a quiet tone of voice.

“Miss, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Romeo tried to help her to her feet, but she pushed his hands away. Standing, she straightened her short sleeveless dress and brushed the dirt off the hem. Watching her every move, he admired everything about her—her almond-shaped eyes, the beauty mark above her lips, the diamond hoop earrings that grazed her shoulders and her womanly physique. He guessed she was in her early twenties, around the same age as his kid sister, Francesca, and suspected she was an exchange student.

Glaring at him, it was obvious she was pissed, and Romeo didn’t blame her. He should have been paying attention to the road instead of arguing with Giuseppe about his ex. He’d messed up, and now because of his mistake the cyclist was staring at him with tears in her eyes.

Romeo swallowed hard. Feeling like a specimen under a microspore, his throat dried, and sweat drenched his suit jacket. If looks could kill, he’d be dead, and the coroner would be notifying his next of kin. For the first time in Romeo’s life he was tongue-tied, in such a state of shock he couldn’t speak. And not just because he’d accidentally struck a cyclist with his car; he was transfixed by the woman’s natural beauty. There weren’t a lot of people of color in Milan, and she was such a knockout that Romeo couldn’t stop staring at her. Her full, sensuous lips and her Lord-have-mercy curves were captivating, instantly seizing his attention.

Romeo was intrigued by her, wanted to know her story. Where was she from? And most importantly, was she single? The woman was off-the-charts hot, and if they’d met under different circumstances he definitely would have asked her out. But since Romeo didn’t want her to think he was an insensitive jerk, he quit lusting and wore an apologetic smile. “Miss, I feel horrible about what happened.”

Drawn to her, he stepped forward, eager to make amends for what he’d done. Romeo felt like an ass. Guilt-ridden, he opened his mouth to apologize again, but her strident voice filled the air.

“Are you blind?” she shouted. “You could have killed me with your stupid sports car!”

A crowd of curious onlookers had gathered around them, and Romeo wished everyone—except the dark-skinned beauty with the American accent—would disappear. Well-traveled, with vacation homes and real estate properties all across the United States, he guessed she was visiting from New York and wondered how long she’d be in Milan.

The woman gestured to the road, an incredulous expression on her flawless oval face. “I had the right of way, but you turned right into me. What’s wrong with you? You couldn’t wait ten seconds for me to cross the street?”

“Miss, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you—”

“Of course you didn’t see me,” she shot back. “You were too busy on your cell phone.”

“You’re right,” Romeo conceded. “I should have been paying more attention to the road.”

“Jerk,” she mumbled, shaking her head in disgust. “You should lose your license.”

Gasps and whispers ripped through the well-dressed Milanese crowd. A camera flashed in Romeo’s face, then another one, and he knew it was just a matter of time before everyone in the city knew about his morning traffic accident. Great, he thought, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black, suit pants. That’s all I need. More bad press.

Horns blared, and pedestrians complained as they maneuvered their way around the accident scene. An irate driver in a gleaming white Porsche stuck his head out the window and yelled in Italian about the traffic jam. Romeo’s car was blocking the intersection, but the street was so narrow that there was nowhere for him to move it. “The accident was my fault, and I take full responsibility for it,” he said, hoping to defuse the situation. “I’ll pay to replace your bike, your dress and all of the contents in your purse as well—”

“How benevolent of you, Mr. Morretti, but I don’t want anything from you.”

His mouth fell open, and seconds passed before he spoke. “You know who I am?”

“Of course I know who you are. I haven’t been living under a rock the last two years.”

“You live here? In Milan?” Romeo asked. “Where?”

A bearded man holding a leather satchel made his way through the crowd. “My name is Lucan Bianchi and I’m an emergency room doctor at Milan General Hospital,” he explained, addressing the cyclist. “Is it okay if I check you out while we wait for the paramedics to arrive?”

Nodding, the woman allowed the doctor to lead her over to a wooden bench under a cluster of lush green trees, and she took seat. To Romeo’s relief, most of the spectators put their cell phones away and moved on. He heard sirens in the distance, knew the police were on their way to the scene and considered calling Giuseppe back. This was bad. Worse than the stories about him in the tabloids. He’d screwed up and needed his public relations director to work his magic again.

Romeo shook his head. No. He’d handle it. He’d take responsibility for his actions and would deal with the consequences, whatever they may be. But a chilling thought came to mind, and a shudder ripped through his body. What if there was footage of his accident? If the police brought charges against him, would his reputation suffer? Would his billionaire clients take their investments elsewhere? His pulse drummed in his ears, deafening him. Romeo could see the headlines now: Woman Struck by Morretti Millionaire! Wealthy Businessman Charged with Careless Driving! Jail Time for Bad-Boy Tycoon!

“Zoe, where are you visiting from?”

The sound of the doctor’s voice interrupted Romeo’s thoughts. Eager to learn more about the cyclist, he listened closely to the conversation she was having with the physician. It was a challenge, but Romeo blocked out all the noises on the busy street and committed everything about her to memory. Her name was Zoe Smith; she’d lived in Milan for two years and was the PR director for the fashion house Casa Di Moda. He’d never heard of the company before, but made a mental note to Google it when he returned to his car.

Trying to appear casual, he moved closer to the bench and listened in. Romeo was used to meeting beautiful females and had no shortage of admirers, but this was the first—and only—time in his life a woman had left him flustered, desperate to be in her presence. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her and wished he could trade places with the doctor. The physician had the pleasure of touching her, and as Romeo stared at the dark-skinned beauty, all he could think about was kissing her. Undressing her. Making love to her at his villa. And he would. But first, Romeo had to save his neck.