It unsettles me, my reaction to her. For a moment I’m thrown off kilter. I can’t remember the last time that happened. I inhale a sharp breath, trying to dispel whatever it is going through me.
“Matteo Vitale?” she says my name like a question.
I can’t help but note the gentle rasp in her voice. It’s also impossible not to notice the uncertainty and slight fear in her eyes.
I manage to feel in control again. She has been completely caught off guard. Which is good. Briefly, I wonder at her lax security. She’s coming after my family, after all; she should be scared for her life. No one should be able to sneak up on her.
It’s a good thing I’m here now. To remind her exactly why she should be afraid. And exactly what I’m capable of.
And yet, even as I slide into the chair beside her, a part of me feels like we’re on a level playing field. She might have just as much control as I do. She just doesn’t know it. My gaze travels over her face.
Her plump pink lips are slightly parted revealing a hint of perfectly white teeth, rosy cheeks. The dress she’s wearing offers a modest view of the curved slope of her round breasts.
I catalog every part of her in mere seconds, and when my gaze connects with her eyes again, they still have the same startling effect. I feel my trousers tighten, and I shift in my seat, trying to temper my arousal.
She’s stunning, but I’ve been with countless stunning women before and none of them have ever had an effect like this on me. I need to get to the bottom of it. But now that I’m here, I might as well change tactics.
Lindsay Beaumont isn’t going to win this game, whether or not she knows she’s playing. It’s not the game I planned to playwhen I walked in here, but I’ve always been great at adapting when a curveball has been thrown in my path.
The case she’s building will cost me, if I let it get that far. I’ve run the numbers. Fourteen months to trial, conservatively. Three of my holding companies exposed, possibly four. Eighty-two million in assets that would require restructuring under scrutiny.
It’s manageable. I’ve absorbed worse.
What I haven’t yet managed to quantify is her. The specific cost of her, the way she sits with her drink forgotten and her spine straight like she’s already in a courtroom. I know how to dismantle a case. I don’t have a clean model yet for dismantling the prosecutor.
That’s new. I don’t like it. I also don’t want to leave.
This should be interesting.
CHAPTER 3
Lindsay
One second I’m taking a sip of my tequila, bemoaning my luck because there’s absolutely no man in here that’s worth my attention. The next I’m nearly choking on my saliva as a man slides into the seat beside me like he owns the place.
He’s the last person I’d been expecting.
I can’t even hide my shock at the sight of him, and even more puzzling is him sitting beside me like it’s the most normal thing in the world. My mind drifts to the thoughts of him I had just an hour ago and my cheeks burns.
It takes a couple of seconds for me to recover. I blame the two glasses of tequila I had earlier. I’m buzzed and having slight trouble computing his presence by my side.
He signals at the waiter to bring him a beer, which is so unrefined and extremely unlike him that I pause once again.
He’s dressed head to toe in luxury. A network of clean, straight lines, from the cut of his suit to the angle of his cheekbones and jaw. He looks exactly like he did in the photo I’d been staring at. Even better, in fact.
Much better.
Matteo Vitale is a picture of polished perfection. His entire aura feels like a challenge. A dare to try to match up and fail. But I’m Lindsay Beaumont and I never fail.
The man is inherently sexy and the way he carries himself makes it clear that he aware of this fact. His beauty aside, though, he also carries this quiet elegance that comes from old money, the aristocratic kind.
I don’t know any aristocrats that would walk up to a bar in one of the best hotels in the city and order a beer. And I know many aristocrats.
“You’re drinking a Peroni,” I say, feeling the need to state the obvious. My voice perfectly conveys my surprise.
“She speaks,” he says, intense dark eyes show visible amusement.
He wraps a large hand around the neck of the bottle. My throat dries when I notice the way a tendon in his large hand flexes. His dark eyes are still on me, like he can tell exactly what is running through my mind.
