Wedding Vow of Revenge. Lucy Monroe
of friendship and hers were not quite the same thing. Maybe he was between girlfriends at the moment.
“I have no interest in becoming a business tycoon’s pillow friend.”
CHAPTER TWO
“DO YOU judge every man you meet by Baron Randall’s standards?”
She should not be surprised he knew about her past. Half the modern world had read the tabloid stories. Or at least it seemed that way sometimes. It was a good thing she’d learned early on in her modeling career that someone asking an awkward or painful question did not equate to an obligation on her part to answer it.
“That’s really none of your business, Mr. Gordon.”
“Angelo.”
She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “Angelo. I work for you and to my knowledge a personal relationship with my employer is not a requirement on my job description.”
His amused but piercing gaze did things to her insides she desperately wished it didn’t. “You are not only forthright, but you’re damn certain of yourself.”
“Yes.” He wasn’t the only person who knew what he wanted and went for it. Rather she knew what she didn’t want—a repeat of her disastrous affair with a ruthless business tycoon.
Despite the fact that Angelo made a pointed effort to restrain his conversation to her business report over dinner, Tara found herself unwillingly enthralled by the man himself. He was intense, dynamic and smart. Smarter than any person she’d ever met and yet, he didn’t dismiss her opinions if they differed from his. She appreciated that more than he could know, truly enjoying the evidence that he respected her even if she wasn’t quite in his league.
That was something she’d always felt was in doubt in her relationship with Baron.
She hadn’t been sure how Angelo would take her not-so-gentle refusal to get personal, but he’d responded with a professionalism and maturity she couldn’t help admiring. She’d known men a lot older than him that reverted to spoiled little boys when thwarted in their pursuit of a woman.
For that reason, she found herself relaxing as the evening progressed, less concerned when their conversation took temporary by-ways not related wholly to human resource management.
They’d spent an hour over dinner before she even realized it.
The waiter asked if they wanted dessert and Angelo looked at her. “Do you have a sweet tooth? I’ve had their raspberry crème brûlée and it is some of the best I’ve tasted anywhere.”
“Crème brûlée is my favorite,” she admitted, her mouth watering at the prospect of indulging in the treat.
With one of his rare, but devastating smiles, he ordered one for each of them.
The desserts arrived and she had to stifle an animal groan of anticipation when she saw the perfect caramelization of the glaze on top.
“You look like you’ve just been offered a dish of ambrosia.”
“Haven’t I?”
He laughed, the sound doing things to her even more insidious than the sight of the decadent treat.
She felt compelled to explain her over the top reaction. “I spent years eschewing refined sugar and processed food of any kind for the benefit of my figure and complexion.”
Appreciative eyes burned over her and she felt like she was wearing a spandex mini that revealed every curve rather than the black Jackie-O suit.
“You must still refrain quite a bit.” His voice caressed her with obvious masculine approval.
For the first time in years, she found herself blushing about a comment made regarding her physical appearance. She’d gotten very used to seeing her body as her tool in trade, but this man made her very aware of herself as a feminine being.
She shrugged, projecting the air of insouciance she should be feeling about his comment. “I didn’t stop modeling all that long ago.”
His eyes narrowed. “I was under the impression you came to Primo Tech straight out of college.”
“I did, but the last couple of years I supported myself with my modeling.”
“After your breakup with Randall.”
She grimaced. “Yes.”
“He paid for your schooling before that?”
She didn’t know why, but she found herself wanting to answer his question, when normally she would have cut such personal conversation off at the knees.
“He wanted to maximize our time together, so I agreed not to work.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t want you to give up school.”
“Oh, he did.” But as much as she’d thought she loved the swine, she’d been unwilling to give up her independence completely, or her dreams for her future.
“You refused.”
“Adamantly.”
“Did you retire from modeling because he wanted you to?”
Again, the question didn’t offend her so much as give her an opportunity to talk about something she’d kept locked away inside for two long years. “I’d always planned on retiring young enough to go to school and move onto a second career. So, when he said he wanted to be the only man in my life, not one in a cast of thousands, I agreed and quit a few years and a few goals before I’d planned to. I was actually flattered he felt so strongly.”
She knew her voice echoed her disgust with herself over her naiveté. Even so, her insistence on taking college courses had been a bone of contention between them until their break-up.
“Do you regret that decision?”
“I find regret a wasted emotion. When I had to go back to work to support myself again, it was harder to get the lucrative jobs, but I survived and I learned a lot in the process.”
Angelo studied her, what looked like real respect warming his gaze. “Yet even after going back to work, you excelled in your studies. I have heard modeling requires a great deal of dedication.”
No doubt he’d dated a few models in his time. Most rich men did, seeing beautiful women as adornments as surely as designers saw models as mannequins to display their wares.
Still, she couldn’t help liking the knowledge he was impressed with her efforts at school rather than offended by them as Baron had been.
“I don’t think I could have modeled full-time and gone to school as well, but I earned enough working through the summers to support myself during the school year.”
“You’re a very determined woman.”
“I’d say that was something you probably understand well.”
“You’d be right.” He pointed his spoon toward her brûlée. “Taste.”
Did he have any idea what the sexy timbre of his voice did to her insides? Of course not, and no way was she letting on either. Better to get over the strange, melting reaction than expose it in any way, but every word was like foreplay to her sexually deprived body.
Bad. This was very bad.
She grabbed her spoon, conversation ceasing while she obeyed his order to taste. She gave a helpless moan of pleasure as the first bite of the perfectly prepared sweet filled her senses. Her eyes closed and she savored the taste she indulged in so rarely.
She’d once had another model describe a chocolate torte as orgasmic, but until this moment she’d never had an erotic reaction to food before. The sensual slide of the vanilla custard across her tongue was just that though and goose bumps formed on her inner thighs as her womb clenched in an astonishing reaction to the delicacy.