Pamela Yaye - Seduced By The Tycoon At Christmas

Everyone on the sidewalk—including Romeo Morretti—gawked at her. No doubt, they were shocked she spoke Italian. Everyone was. Two years ago, while traveling through Europe, she’d fallen in love with Milan, and after a chance meeting with up-and-coming fashion designer Aurora Bordellio at a networking event, she’d landed the public relations director position at Casa Di Moda. Thrilled to be living and working in her favorite city in the world, she’d devoted herself to learning the language, culture and history. Taking night classes at the local university and attending community events were the wisest things she’d ever done. When locals heard her speaking Italian, they instantly warmed up to her and went out of their way to help her.

The light changed, and pedestrians flooded the street. Taking her time, despite all of the people rushing past her, Zoe slowly crossed the intersection. High-rise buildings crowded the skyline, but she could still make out the top of the golden-painted statue on the Duomo and admired its beauty. Described by locals as the Italian Manhattan, Milan was a fast-paced city packed with entrepreneurs, university students, attractive women in the latest designer fashions, and wide-eyed tourists toting cameras and backpacks.

Zoe was tired and her ankle ached, but the sounds and aromas around her were invigorating. Milan had it all—historical buildings and monuments, breathtaking architecture, outstanding restaurants, and a vibrant nightlife—and every day, Zoe found something new to love about the city. Her work visa expired in the new year, and although she missed her friends and family back home, she teared up at the thought of leaving Milan.

“Where are you going?”

Zoe glanced over her shoulder and saw Romeo Morretti standing directly behind her, and gulped. What does he want? Her eyes zeroed in on him, taking in every aspect of his six-foot-three frame. He had a full head of curly brown hair and skin that looked smooth to the touch, and his lips were so thick and juicy, thoughts of kissing him overwhelmed her mind. He smelled of shampoo and aftershave; the strong, masculine scent tickled her nose. His piercing gaze and his boyish smile were a lethal combination. Zoe feared if she didn’t move, her knees would buckle, and she’d fall headfirst into his arms. Desperate to put some distance between them, she increased her pace, speed walking toward the taxi stand even though her ankle was killing her.

“Zoe, please, wait. Don’t run off. I can drive you wherever you need to go.”

Her feet slowed. Not because of his generous, unexpected offer, but because of the way he said her name. With tenderness and warmth, as if they were lovers and he was pleading for forgiveness. Deleting the thought from her mind, Zoe knew it was important to keep her guard up and wisely took cover behind the green taxi stand. Her mouth was dry, and her stomach was twisted in knots, but she managed to sound calm. “No, thank you.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve seen you drive, and I don’t want to end up in the emergency ward.”

The light in his eyes dimmed, and Zoe felt guilty for insulting him. She remembered what the police officers had told her about the accident. According to witnesses, she was to blame, so she had no right to insult Romeo Morretti. Still, he made her nervous, uncomfortable. She wished he’d return to his fancy sports car and leave her alone.

“Where are you going?”

“Work,” she said, trying to conceal her frustration. Hot and thirsty, all Zoe could think about was drinking a tall, cold glass of ice water, and hoped Jiovanni had remembered to bring snacks to the staff meeting. “I’m late, and if I don’t hustle, my boss will kill me.”

“Work? In your condition?” His eyebrows slanted in a frown. “You should go home and rest. I’m sure your boss will understand.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a pest?”

Romeo gave a hearty chuckle. “No, never.”

Damn, even his laugh is sexy, Zoe thought as she wiped her damp palms along the sides of her dress. It wasn’t every day she met a man of Romeo Morretti’s calibre—someone suave, charming and dapper—and being in his presence had an odd effect on her. Every time their eyes met she felt short of breath, as if she were going to have an asthma attack—but she didn’t have asthma. Licking her lips, she searched the street for a cab.

“Zoe, what’s the number for Casa Di Moda? I’ll call on your behalf.”

A shiver tickled her spine. Hearing her name come out of his broad, sensuous mouth warmed her all over. Seconds passed before she could speak, and when Zoe finally reunited with her voice, it sounded foreign to her ears. What’s the matter with me? Why am I acting skittish? For some strange reason, Romeo made her heart race. Zoe wanted him gone, far away from her, before she embarrassed herself.

“No thanks, I’m good. Don’t bother.”

“I should have known you worked in the fashion industry,” he said, his gaze sliding down her physique. “You’re stunning, and you have a great sense of style, not to mention a unique, eye-catching look.”

Zoe didn’t respond, searched the streets once again for a taxicab. Romeo was buttering her up, trying to sweet-talk her because he felt guilty about the accident, but it wasn’t going to work. Immune to his charms, she gave him her back.

Undeterred, Romeo stepped forward, moved in so close, Zoe could smell his minty-fresh breath. Her mind went blank and her senses spun. They were standing side by side now, shoulder to shoulder, and for the second time in minutes, Zoe inhaled sharply.

“You speak Italian very well,” Romeo said, his tone filled with awe. “How did you learn the language?”

Doesn’t he have somewhere to be? His office? A meeting? On his private jet with a bevy of supermodels? Zoe told herself to be nice and forced a smile on her lips. “I took Italian in high school and throughout university, so I had a good handle on the language before I moved to Milan.”

Annoyed that her favorite pair of sunglasses had been destroyed in the accident, she shielded her eyes from the sun with her hands. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, the breeze was warm, and a delicious scent wafted out of the bakery, eliciting groans from her stomach. Zoe thought of going inside the shop to grab a bite to eat, but decided against it. She was pressed for time, and she feared Romeo Morretti would follow her inside if she did. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with him in a cozy, intimate setting. He made her jittery, and there was no telling what would happen if he touched her again.

“I feel horrible about the accident, and I want to make it up to you.”

Zoe didn’t answer, hoping that if she stayed quiet, he’d take the hint and go away.

“I’d like to take you out for dinner tonight at Dolce Vita Milan,” he said.

His broad smile revealed straight, blinding white teeth and dimples in each cheek. He was a pretty boy who was used to getting his way, and although he wasn’t her type, Zoe had to admit that Romeo was one fine-looking man. A handful, too, according to her favorite blog. Every week, there was a story about him hooking up with an Italian actress or model. Zoe didn’t doubt it. He had a devilish expression on his face, as if he was cooking up mischief, and Zoe suspected this was his MO—flash a wink and a smile, then pour on the charm. She made up her mind not to be his next victim. Dubbed Diavolo Sexy by the local press, which meant sexy devil in Italian, Romeo could have any woman he wanted, and Zoe didn’t doubt that he had.

“Put your number in my phone,” he instructed, taking his cell out of his back pocket and offering it to her. “I’ll call you this afternoon so we can hook up.”