Dating the Billionaire Page 7

  “I can leave another message for her to—”

  “Don’t,” he interjected. He’d already given Savannah more power over him than he had any other woman.

  Savannah clearly wasn’t interested. Maybe their date had not been as amazing to her as it had seemed to him. Unless he had built her and that night up in his mind beyond what she and it had really been.

  “I didn’t call about Savannah,” he said. “I’m calling because I want to cancel my membership.” Although that was entirely about Savannah.

  “Cancel?” Miranda Fox repeated with such righteous-sounding indignation that she was acting as if he’d sworn at her. “But you have not given the agency a chance. You’ve only been on one date. You have yet to take full advantage of your membership with Liaisons International.”

  He smiled at her tactic. Clearly she was good at talking people into things they didn’t want to do, which was probably why Savannah hadn’t called him back. Despite her agreement that she wouldn’t do something she really didn’t want to, she must have regretted their date.

  Had she regretted everything?

  “My joining was a mistake,” he said.

  “Please don’t let one bad date spoil the entire experience for you,” she said.

  But it hadn’t been a bad date. It had been the perfect date—just as Miranda Fox had promised him.

  “You’re going to have to give it more time,” she continued, “and go on more dates before you give up on finding your soul mate.”

  Teo chuckled at her romanticism. He’d given up on finding a soul mate long ago. Hell, even as a kid he’d known no such thing existed. His mother’s inability to maintain a relationship had shown him that there was no such thing as romance. She’d used men for money, and they’d used her for sex...until she’d gotten too old to attract them.

  “I’m not looking for a soul mate,” he assured the matchmaker.

  “Then why did you join the service?” she asked.

  “To date.” Specifically to take a date to that gallery opening. He’d known Francesca wanted to set him up with an artist friend who was looking for a benefactor. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with another woman only after his money.

  Savannah hadn’t lied about not using him for financial gain or influence. If she’d wanted anything from him, she would have called him back. Maybe she had only wanted that one night.

  That had been one spectacular fucking night, though. His body ached with tension demanding release—the powerful, mind-blowing relief that she had given him. He wanted her again, still, so damn badly.

  “So date,” Miranda Fox challenged him. “Go out with someone else.”

  He snorted at the thought of getting as lucky as he’d been when Savannah had shown up at the door of his hotel suite. Lightning like that wasn’t about to strike twice.

  “You already claimed to have set me up on the perfect date,” he reminded her.

  “There is more than one perfect date,” she said.

  “I thought you believed in soul mates,” he challenged her.

  She chuckled now. “I also believe in just dating to date, to enjoy the company of another person, to have dinner, drinks, relax...”

  “You don’t often use your own service, do you?” Matteo wondered.

  Because there was nothing relaxing about dating, about becoming so intrigued with someone only to have her disappear and never call back.

  “That would be a conflict of interest,” Miranda haughtily informed him. “My job is to help others find their soul mates, not to find my own.”

  “Why does that sound like an excuse, Ms. Fox?” he challenged her.

  She chuckled softly. “It could be,” she acknowledged. “It could also be the truth.”

  “To truly represent your company and your clients,” he said, “you should try dating more. Then you’d know what it’s really like.”

  “If you try another date, I might take your advice,” she said. “As it is...you’re being as hypocritical as you obviously think I am.”

  “Tou—” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t think it without thinking of Savannah. He understood why the two women were friends; they were both clever and quick-witted. And knowing that they were friends tempted him to press her for more information about the intriguing Savannah.

  But maybe that was Savannah’s ploy after all. Maybe she was playing a game with him—making him want her so damn much more than he already had.

  She’d made him lose control that night, and when she’d disappeared, she’d wrested control entirely away from him. It was damn time he took back control of his own life.

  “Go ahead,” he told her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Set me up with someone new,” he said. “Someone who really is everything you promised me—incapable of playing games with no ulterior motives.”

  “Savannah—”

  “Savannah is gone,” he said. And it was past damn time for him to accept that he wasn’t going to see her again. “So set me up with someone else. Someone I can trust.”

  He knew that whoever she was, he would probably not be as attracted to her or as intrigued. But that was good. That was a hell of a lot safer than the way Savannah had made him feel. No. It was good that she hadn’t contacted him.

  It would better for him to never see her again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  NOTHING MATTEO RINALDI did should have surprised her. But still the news struck Blair like a hard slap to the face, and that was already uncomfortably chafed from the glue she had to use to hold the beard in place. She’d just taken off the damn thing after getting to her hotel room in Milan.

  She spent too much time wearing the beard and the padding and the sunglasses—too much time flying Matteo back and forth between Madrid and Milan. She was beginning to get dizzy from those flights and from her infatuation with him. Apparently that had been all on her side, though.

  “He did what?” she asked Miranda to repeat what she’d just been told—because she didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to believe that he’d done that.

  “You heard me.” Her friend called her on her crap, as Miranda always had.

  Sure, she’d heard her, but she’d been hoping she hadn’t. “He really asked you to set him up with someone else?” Had that night not meant as much to him as it had to her? Was she that replaceable? And why did that bother her so much?

  “Hey, he left all those messages for you that you refused to return,” Miranda pointed out.

  “True...” she murmured with a pang of regret now. Maybe she should have returned those messages, should have seen him just one more time...as Savannah. Then maybe she could have put that night behind her, could have gotten a clear perspective instead of the one she’d probably romanticized. It—and he—could not have been as amazing as she remembered.

  “You have to realize he willingly joined the dating service,” Miranda said. “When one willingly joins a dating service, it’s because one wants to actually date.”

  Blair snorted in derision. “He only joined Liaisons International because he wanted to take a date to the opening of his sister’s gallery,” she said. “He was just using that date to save him from his sister’s amateur matchmaking.”

  Miranda gasped. “You should have told me that. I would have canceled his membership for his dishonesty.”

  “I was relieved,” Blair admitted. “He wasn’t looking for anything serious any more than I am.”

  “So why didn’t you call him back?” Miranda asked.

  Because the feelings she’d had for him could have become serious.

  But now that she’d gotten to know more about him, she wasn’t so sure that risk was real. She was not about to fall for a sexist jerk who refused to have a woman pilot.

  “I didn’t want to see him again,” sh
e admitted. But she had—even before she’d donned her male pilot disguise. She’d seen him every time she’d closed her eyes—she’d seen him naked, with that soft dark hair covering the sculpted muscles of his chest. His thighs and arms had been all sculpted muscle, too, and his...

  Heat rushed through her, making her tingle everywhere—like he had that night. She shifted against the mattress on which she lay. These sheets weren’t silky like the ones she’d torn up that night with him. The bed wasn’t as soft, and except for her, it was empty—like she’d felt inside since she’d left him. She should have called him back, should have seen him once more...to get the desire for him out of her system.

  “You said didn’t,” Miranda pointed out. Of course she would have picked up on Blair’s slip. “So you do want to see him again now?”

  “You said he’s going out with someone else,” Blair reminded her. “That he didn’t ask for me.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Miranda admitted. “He’s clearly given up on seeing Savannah again. So meet him as Blair. Tell him the truth.”

  A twinge of panic struck her heart. If she told him the truth about her name, then he might realize she was part owner of Private Flights and he might put it together that she was actually the pilot flying him.

  If he realized she had donned that disguise to fool him, he would undoubtedly—and maybe deservedly so—be furious with her.

  She had been mad at him ever since he’d requested a male pilot, though. Now she was even angrier that he’d requested another date. Not that she expected him to pine for her like she was pining for him.

  God, had she been pining for him? Was that what this hollow ache inside her was? Was she actually beginning to care about him?

  Maybe, if she was with him one more time, he would fill that hollowness, and she would be able to think again. She’d be able to figure a way out of the mess she’d created with her subterfuge...if she wanted to keep seeing him.

  “Blair?” Miranda called out from the cell phone speaker. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And I need a favor.”

  “Blair—”

  “You owe me,” she reminded her friend. “For all the favors I’ve done you over the years, all the things I let you talk me into.”

  “You wouldn’t have done any of those things if you hadn’t really wanted to,” Miranda pointed out. Rightfully so.

  But Blair wasn’t about to admit to that. “And I always got in more trouble than you did every time we got caught.”

  “Because you always got caught,” Miranda said. “I didn’t.”

  She had always gotten caught. That was why wearing that disguise had been such a bad idea. But Matteo hadn’t seen through it yet; she hadn’t been caught.

  Or had she?

  In a trap she’d set for herself. Because she didn’t see any way out of her current situation...so she might as well figure out a way to enjoy it.

  To enjoy him...

  Before she got caught.

  “You know you owe me,” Blair persisted.

  And Miranda’s sigh rattled the phone. “What do you want from me?”

  “Just one thing.”

  The rest she intended to get from someone else. And she intended to—hell, she needed to—get a hell of a lot of it from him.

  Sounding worried, Miranda asked, “What?”

  “A date,” Blair replied. “I need a date.”

  * * *

  What the hell had he been thinking to agree to another date—with anyone? Even if Savannah showed up at his door, he should close it in her face after how she’d treated him. He was never the one who had to leave messages, who had to beg for someone to call him back, to see him again.

  He was the one who got begged—for more.

  Apparently Savannah didn’t want anything from him, though. But just because she wasn’t interested in him didn’t mean that he should give up on dating.

  He wasn’t looking for a soul mate, but he wouldn’t mind finding someone to spend time with talking, enjoying a meal, dancing...

  But like he’d had with Savannah that night, he had no expectations now. Especially after what had happened with Savannah.

  What the hell was he thinking to trust Liaisons International again?

  He’d probably be better off letting Francesca set him up with someone. Hell, no. He’d be better off meeting someone on his own. Maybe he should switch from having Bill as a pilot to having Blair Snyder. But a woman who sounded as incredible as she did probably wasn’t single.

  For some reason he didn’t feel single either right now. He felt guilty about going out with someone other than Savannah, which was crazy. They’d only had that one night. That one incredible night.

  And he didn’t want to give up on it or on her. Not yet.

  He’d just reached for the cell phone on the desk of his hotel suite when a knock rattled the door. Damn it.

  His date had shown up before he’d had a chance to cancel it. He would just have to explain that it had been a mistake. But then he opened the door.

  And shock rippled through him along with the overwhelming attraction he’d felt for her. He hadn’t been wrong; he hadn’t exaggerated in his memory how beautiful she was. She wasn’t dressed up like she’d been that first night. But even in a sweater and jeans she was sexy as sin.

  So she was as beautiful—maybe even more so—than he’d remembered her. But what about the passion?

  Was it as hot as he remembered, the pleasure as intense?

  But he couldn’t just assume that was why she’d come here, that she wanted him, too. So he asked, “What are you doing here?”

  And she reached out, her palms against his chest. After pushing him back, she stepped inside the suite and shut the door with a swung of her foot. “You?”

  But it was a question, not an assumption.

  He wanted her—so damn badly. Tension gripped his body, making every muscle ache with desire. His skin tingled even through his shirt where her hands splayed across his chest. He wanted to pull her closer, wanted to swing her up in his arms and carry her right to the bed. But...

  “I have a date,” he warned her.

  “I know,” she said. “I’m your date.”

  “But Miranda...”

  “Miranda owed me a favor,” she said. Her lips curved up. “Actually she owes me a lot of favors.”

  “If you wanted to see me,” he said, “all you had to do was answer the messages I left for you.” But she hadn’t, and he had to remind himself of that, had to hold on to control of his irrational need to be with her. She’d ghosted him, and she wouldn’t have done that if she was as attracted to him as he was to her.

  She nodded. “I know. I’ve been busy. And it hasn’t been that long.”

  Two weeks. It had seemed interminable to him. And usually, being busy himself, it wouldn’t have seemed that long. But something about her...

  He’d never felt this way about anyone before, had never become so intrigued so quickly or so attached.

  “It was too long,” he said as his grip on control began to slip. He wanted to resist, to protect himself, so that she didn’t stomp all over his ego again.

  A shaky sigh slipped out of her lips. “So you don’t want me?” she asked.

  He wanted her too damn much, so much that his control snapped. He swung her up in his arms and headed toward the bedroom.

  And a giggle replaced the sad-sounding sigh she’d uttered moments before. Her arm slung around his shoulders, she arched up and kissed the side of his neck.

  The tingling he’d already felt spread throughout him. He had plans for the night, plans that hadn’t included her. But now that she was here...

  Everything was about Savannah. He laid her on the bed, but unlike that night where he’d been so concerned about her pleasure, now he could
think only of how badly he wanted her, how badly he needed her.

  So he followed her down onto the mattress, pressing his body to hers, so she would know what she’d done to him, how much he desired her. His erection strained against the fly of his dress pants...until she released it.

  Her hands were between them, moving. First she pulled down the zipper, then she closed her hand around him, stroking him. The sensation of her skin against his...

  He nearly came. But that would be too quickly and not enough. Not nearly enough pleasure.

  In giving her pleasure that night, he’d intensified his own. So he pulled back now...just far enough that he could unzip her jeans and ease them down her long, long legs. While he did that, she arched up and dragged her sweater over her head and unclasped her bra. It fell away, freeing her full breasts.

  Her body was perfect. So feminine and full, with generous curves and silky skin. He had to touch, had to trace his fingers around those mounds, had to cup the weight of them in his palms. Then he lowered his mouth and flicked his tongue across one taut rosy nipple and then the other.

  She moaned and tunneled her fingers in his hair, holding his mouth against her breast. So he closed his lips around the nipple and gently tugged on it. And she moaned again, louder, longer.

  She excited him so damn much, her responsiveness urging him to give her more and more. So he pushed her back onto the bed, and he moved his mouth from her breast, over the slight curve of her belly to where only a thin scrap of lace covered her mound. He tried to pull it down, but in his desperate grasp the lace tore and fell away from her.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes.”

  She didn’t care about the underwear. He knew what she wanted.

  What he wanted...

  So he buried his face between her legs, licking and teasing her with his tongue until she writhed against the mattress, tearing at the sheets and then grasping his head. She ground herself against his mouth, desperate for release.

  And he gave it to her, sliding two fingers and his tongue inside her. Her body convulsed as he drank in the sweetness of her orgasm. He’d missed this—the taste of her—so damn much; hell, he’d missed her—too damn much.