He was upside down to her gaze and just as gloriously gorgeous. There was a part of her that wanted to commit this spiraling attraction, this simmering desire for him, as her own body and mind trying to find the normal again after the life-changing event of her son’s birth.
But Renzo DiCarlo, she had to admit, would always render her knees weak, make her body hot and drown her heart in foolish longings. The first two she was fine with. It was the last that gave her pause.
His eyes seemed infinitely deep as he said, “That way, you can feel like you’re in control of this.”
“What kind of deal?” she said, feeling as if she were splayed out for his amusement.
His fingers moved up to clasp her cheeks. “You join me for an intimate dinner with two of my closest friends, and I will let your bodyguard, Enrico, take you to an antique notebook shop that’s been standing for nearly a hundred years. You’re interested in history and culture and art, right?”
“You’re a tease,” she said, her breath a wispy thing.
He laughed, and the lines fanning out across his sharp features looked like a map to a treasure. Her very own private treasure, if only she could reach her hand out towards it. “You’re easy to tease,cara.”
“Just two friends?”
“Sì.”
“Okay. This antique notebook shop, can you arrange an interview for me with the owner? Perhaps I could document the history of the shop.”
His eyes gleamed as if he had known she would ask exactly that. “Will you promise to stick to that one place for today?”
“Fine.”
“Good girl,” he said with a tap to her cheek, then released her.
Dampness bloomed between her thighs, and Mimi gasped at the sheer pleasure of the sensation curling deep within her. It had been a while—a long while—since her body had reacted with such a jolt of need that she felt dizzy.
Renzo’s hand waiting to pull her up was less an anchor and more another stimulus.
Straightening, she watched him as he finished his coffee, collected his suit jacket, pressed another kiss to that spot on her cheek and hurried out.
She didn’t want to read much into the fact that he had known how much she would like to visit the antique notebook shop. But she had a feeling he’d been holding that card for a while.
With the intention of…persuading her to meet his friends? Or to simply give her the pleasure of the visit? Could her ruthless, powerful, busy billionaire of a husband have given thought to what would make her happy?
And more importantly, why did her heart flutter like a caged bird at the thought of Renzo caring about her?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The evening oftheir dinner with Renzo’s friends snuck up on Mimi, leaving her staring blankly at the meager selection in her wardrobe.
She was never going to be as good as the elite set that Renzo called friends, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself or him by proxy.
Of course, she should have known that her very efficient husband would not only foresee her little problem but arrange a prompt solution. Multiple outfits, along with sophisticated accessories and shoes, had been delivered right to their penthouse an hour before he’d informed her he would pick her up later that night.
Suddenly, she understood what an embarrassment of riches meant.
Silk A-line dresses with cashmere shawls in warm earth colors greeted her eyes. Her heart beat out a staccato rhythm as she realized he’d noted she didn’t wear too-bright, dazzling clothes.
His powers of observation and his perception, his ability to see her as she was…astounded and aroused her equally.
Bright colors and daring outfits had been Pia’s domain. Since there had never been a chance that she could outshine her stepsister—nor did she want to declare a challenge that she was trying to—Mimi had always picked earthy, jewel tones. Also, as a documentary maker, it helped to blend into the surroundings, to put her subjects at ease and to gain their confidence on hard subjects.
And now, staring at herself in the full-length mirror, Mimi amended the narrative in her head.
From the moment she’d understood Pia’s nature, those muted colors had felt safe. But now, it was what she preferred, she told herself.
She would always be the woman behind the camera, watching life wield its magic in the most mundane moments and recording it for posterity. It didn’t, however, mean that she played it safe or that she was afraid of standing out.
