Leah's Seduction: 1 (Gianni and Leah) (2 page)

Chapter 2

Gianni gave his presentation just as he’d rehearsed it, but his mind was elsewhere. It was unusual for him to be anything less than completely focused. But he barely heard the other presenters as they droned on about the state of the industry.

Remembering the encounter in the lobby, he hoped he hadn’t given anything away. As far as he knew, he hadn’t so much as flinched. Which was amazing, and could only be credited to his extensive practice at maintaining his professional demeanor. Rarely did anything rattle him.

But she had. Still not sure he had heard correctly, Gianni went over the introduction once again. He could still hear her voice, and it sent a tendril of anxiety through him.

“
Leah Ivers
,” she had said.

But it couldn’t be the same person. The woman he had just met was very average. At best. She had long, blondish hair that held no style, and if she wore makeup at all, it did nothing to enhance her features. And that dress. How could a woman in the fashion industry attend a renowned event wearing a black and white lace dress that hadn’t even been in style the year it had been mass-produced?

Though he had to admit, some models he knew would envy her lips. They were full and wide, the type that required collagen injections for the average woman. But he suspected hers were natural. Her complexion unadorned by foundation or powder was clear. One good feature, at least.

When she had looked at him with those huge brown eyes, Gianni had reacted. That annoyed him. He had more control than that. Yet he had been hard for her before he had turned to walk away. It was difficult to fathom.

At the root of it was the question whether it could be the same Leah Ivers. The name was common enough, and in a city as densely populated as New York, there had to be many women with that name. Then why did it bother him so much?

His misdeed was at the heart of it. Finding the leather journal had been a fluke. Gianni wasn’t interested in anyone else’s private affairs. And he had been just about to give it to the coffee shop clerk when he happened to flip it open.

A rapid scan over the words written there had made him freeze. The words radiated off the page and spoke to him. It had been almost as though they were written for him. Although he knew they were written by a woman that had never intended for them to be shared.

It was wrong of Gianni to keep it. He should have handed it over and blotted the content from his mind. Yet he didn’t. There was a certain amount of guilt attached to his dishonest act. But not enough to have made him do anything differently.

He knew he would do it all over again. And he had spent time over the last few weeks savoring the intimate confessions scribbled in blue ink within the pages. It was like seeing into the soul of the writer, who shared things rarely spoken of.

There was no way it was the same Leah Ivers. It didn’t fit. Looking at her—the way she carried herself, the way she dressed, and even the way she spoke—he knew she couldn’t be the one to write with such passion. It didn’t seem possible.

Yet the unexpected meeting nagged at him. If it was the same woman, he wanted to confirm it. But he couldn’t very well show her the journal and ask if it belonged to her. For one thing, he didn’t want to give it up. Something that he just then admitted.

And for another, she would be furious that he had kept it as long as he had. Not that she wouldn’t have a right to be mad. But it wouldn’t start the relationship off on firm footing. Leah would reject him from the start, and he couldn’t allow that.

First, he had to know if it was the same woman. If in fact he was reading the journal of the woman he had just met. The odds were against that. But Gianni had learned to expect the unexpected. Life was like that. He would need to figure out a way to discover if it was really her.

When they broke for lunch, he glanced around surreptitiously to see if he could spot her. But Leah was nowhere to be seen. Possibly she had only intended to stay for the first half of the symposium. That would be unusual.

More likely, he’d had an effect on her, as she’d had on him. Though he couldn’t see why. Leah had no way of knowing what he withheld from her. But then, he should be used to women swooning over him. It never went to his head, though, because he didn’t put much value in it. But maybe that was what had happened.

Of course, Leah had realized who he was when she saw him on stage. Clearly, she lacked confidence in her ability to attract men. She certainly didn’t dress the part. It was likely she was nervous and escaped at the first break.

However, there would be other opportunities. The fashion business in the city was huge, but at the same time, many in the industry knew each other. It was a small world, after all, and Gianni was sure he would run into her at another event.

If Leah had been sent to the symposiums, she likely worked in marketing. Her path would cross his. Gianni usually got what he wanted. And if he wanted to know more about Leah Ivers, he would. It was only a matter of time.

*****

In the late afternoon, once the event was over, Gianni tended to some business details at GR Showroom before he left for the day. Though he managed his business primarily from his New York location, he had opened showrooms in other areas to elevate his operations to an international level. Having a high-profile company was both a blessing and a curse.

Some who hadn’t achieved the same level of success sought to hang on to his coattails and benefit without doing the work on their own. But more destructive were those that covertly stole information from him with the intent to profit by it at his expense.

There was a widespread misconception that corporate espionage was a high-tech crime perpetrated by slick computer hackers. That did happen, but in the business world, it wasn’t limited to that. Just about all corporate penetration was achieved with decidedly simple, and preventable, methods.

The same piece of information written on a crumpled-up napkin was worth just as much as that gleaned from a computer. Gianni had hired a savvy security chief that knew it was just as important to protect the napkin as the database.

Dawson Bennett had been head of security for GR Enterprises for years. Gianni trusted him, and listened to him. The well-built, and brilliant employee, was the one who had said to his boss, “A good spy always looks for the path of least resistance before trying anything fancy or high tech.”

And Gianni never forgot that. Unlocked offices or neglected computers were an avenue to steal billions of dollars’ worth of sensitive information. But such activity could be guarded against with smart precautions. However, the more innocent and lower-risk methods were just as dangerous. Which was why Gianni never let his guard down, and was careful whom he trusted or hired.

Dawson sat across from him, leaned back in his chair. His light brown hair was gelled back, and he had a day’s beard growth. But his steely blue eyes conveyed the confidence that came from his skill, in both physical protection and intellectual property security. Gianni trusted him, based on an unblemished record of loyalty.

There was nothing unusual to report. Gianni shoved some papers aside and stood up. “I’m going to take off for the day.”

Dawson rose from his chair, his imposing physique all the more evident. “Yes, sir. Have a good evening.”

Often Gianni worked late, or if he didn’t, he called one of the women he knew. Scrolling through his contacts on the way out the door, he didn’t feel like meeting anyone. He’d grab a bite to eat and head home. His chauffeur doubled as bodyguard.

Gianni reflected on an earlier time when he could walk freely along the streets of Manhattan without the need to be guarded. But wealth, though a privilege, came with responsibilities. And one of them was to ensure he lived another day to manage the business he’d grown from nothing into a mega-billion-dollar company.

Money had provided the lifestyle he worked hard for, but also made him a target. Being driven around by a bodyguard was a concession he had to make. The women he went out with never seemed to mind. Any evidence of his prosperity seemed to please them.

The driver called in a dinner order at Gianni’s request, and a server brought it out to the car when they stopped by. With the food stowed on the front passenger seat, the car continued to the condo, delivering Gianni safely, along with his meal.

Leaving the sack on the counter, Gianni went to the bedroom to shed his clothes. Dressed in faded jeans and shirtless, he stood in front of the window of his upper-floor Manhattan condo. The window comprised one entire wall, and he looked out over Central Park. It was a stunning view, probably the best thing about the condo.

Gazing out over the city gave him perspective. He frequently sat there, looking out, while solving some business issue. Or thinking up some innovative strategy. Then he wasn’t thinking about either. Leah was the only thing on his mind.

Gianni opened a bottle of wine and sipped a glass of it before attending to his dinner. It was as good as it always was, though he didn’t take time to appreciate the gourmet taste or savor the flavors. As soon as his hunger was sated, he put everything aside and went to his desk.

Pulling open the drawer, Gianni stared at the journal for a moment before touching it. Now that he had met her, or
might
have met her, he wasn’t so quick to read her intimate thoughts, spilled out page by page. He didn’t have permission. Yet he knew that wouldn’t stop him.

Lifting it out of the drawer, he felt the soft leather. The sensual feel was inviting. He sat in a padded chair by the window with the night lights sparkling below. Gently, he opened the journal, flipped to the page where he’d left off, and began reading.

Chapter 3

Leah’s boss was busy showing new designs to a buyer when she returned from the symposium. Either he was too involved or just didn’t notice the time, but there was no interrogation about why she returned early.

Vadim Kozel was the marketing manager in charge of Barrington’s showroom. He dressed and acted the part. That day he wore a light gray jacket with a subtle pattern over a white shirt buttoned all the way, no tie. His wavy, dark hair was in studied disarray, giving the impression he styled it that way on purpose.

When he did look up, his washed-out blue eyes held no friendliness, and Leah wondered again why he had hired her. The hint of growth on his chin and upper lip was a fashion statement, she was sure. It wasn’t enough to be a beard, and little enough to be a day’s growth, but a suggestion of his masculinity.

In contrast, the open space of the showroom was tranquil, and Leah was lucky to work there. The high ceilings, painted white and adorned with spotlights, were intended to show the fashions to best advantage. The parquet flooring had a brilliant shine, giving Leah the urge to skate across it. Rack after rack of women’s clothing hung on metal rods secured to thick wooden platforms, recessed into the walls like closets without doors.

Along the middle were several round tables with small leather chairs, used for informal discussions with buyers. At her desk in an office at the back, Leah logged her symposium observations into the current marketing research project. She stressed a few key points she’d managed to overhear, giving the impression that her attendance had netted something valuable.

Rereading her remarks, Leah didn’t click Save until she was certain that nothing of her emotional encounter with one of the most well-known men in the industry was revealed. Confident that nothing in her wording or the tone of the report gave her away, she completed the task. Once she sent the document to Vadim’s email, she realized how starving she was.

Grabbing her purse, she skimmed past the customers, not wanting to interrupt. When Vadim looked up, Leah made a motion with her hand and mouth that looked like eating. He glared at her, probably due to her inept way of letting him know she was taking lunch. Most days, he gave her looks that put her on edge.

February weather in New York could often be as cold as twenty degrees, as Leah’s experience during fashion school had confirmed. Yet that year the temperature was the warmest on record, and flowers were blooming early. Still, forty degrees was chilly enough, and she buttoned her coat as soon as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

She quickly texted Kyra about lunch, knowing that her friend didn’t have any shows and could meet. Leah was the first to arrive at the sandwich shop, one she found affordable. Living in Manhattan was expensive, and she packed a lunch as often as she could.

But since returning from Portland, she hadn’t gotten back in the groove. Also, a craving for comfort food gripped her, though she didn’t know why. The three-cheese melt with tomato soup would take care of that. Finding a table, Leah sat down and shrugged off her coat, but didn’t have to wait long.

When she walked in, Kyra Walsh looked like any other woman dressed for the cold weather. Almost. Even in her ivory sweater and skintight jeans, she looked classy. Her tweed coat fell open, and a knit scarf was wrapped around her neck, hanging in just the right way to accent her outfit.

At five eleven and rail thin, she was built for modeling. Brunette with blue eyes and adorable dimples, she was photogenic. Kyra seemed an unlikely friend, but the fashion industry had drawn them together. And she was nice, and easy to talk to. Not at all haughty because of her looks or her success.

Leah knew that models didn’t always earn high wages. But as a showroom model, Kyra could earn as much as five hundred dollars a day, which was a fortune compared to what an entry-level marketing coordinator earned. But Kyra was saving, and wanted to help her family, so she didn’t spend extravagantly on lunches.

“Hey,” Kyra said, gliding to the table. She opened her arms and leaned down to give Leah a hug. Her long, dark hair was straight that day, and hung well past her shoulders.

Leah stood up. “You sit. I’ll order the food. You paid last time, so I’ve got this.”

Kyra slipped off her coat in one sweeping motion, as if showing its beauty to an audience of hungry buyers. She smiled, and her dimples deepened. “I’ll have that one with the grilled mushrooms and red peppers, on gluten-free bread. Pickles, no chips. And a Diet Coke.”

“Got it.” Leah made her way up to the counter and placed the orders. At least Kyra ate. Some models she’d heard of actually had to starve to stay thin. That would be awful. Her friend had said she had a good metabolism—although Leah knew that eating lunch might mean skipping dinner. But Kyra did work out a lot, too.

Balancing the food and drinks, Leah made it back and lowered the tray to the table. Kyra was texting, but put her phone aside when the tray appeared before her. “I was in fittings all morning. There’s a show coming up. It’s exhausting. I hope I don’t have to try on another thing all day.”

Leah took a sip of her iced tea. “Yeah, that must be horrible to have to try on expensive designer wear for hours.”

Kyra grinned. “Very funny.”

“Or”—Leah widened her eyes as she spoke—“to be skinny enough to fit into anything tossed at you.”

“Okay,” Kyra said. “You made your point.” She wrapped half of her sandwich in the waxed paper and put it aside before she touched the other half. “What about you? How did your morning go?”

“Interesting…until I got back to the showroom and had to endure one of Vadim’s
looks
.”

“Annoying. He needs to give you a chance. You’ve only been there a few months. And I
know
you are doing a good job.”

Leah watched her friend take a sip of her drink. “Yeah, well, I bailed on a meeting I was supposed to attend.”

“Really?”

Leah shrugged. “Sort of. I did go, but then I left at the break.”

Her friend held her straw between her fingers. “Were the talks that bad?”

“It’s not that.”

Kyra lifted her half sandwich in both hands, but had yet to take a bite. “Then what?”

“Have you ever seen Gianni Rinaldi?”

“Sure. I’d have to be blind not to have seen him. He’s at a lot of shows. I’ve even modeled at his showroom. He’s a hunk, to be sure.” Kyra placed her sandwich back on the plate, still untouched. “Why? Did you see him?”

“You could say that.” Leah gave the overview of her unexpected encounter with the gorgeous man, skipping over some of the details because she was at a loss on how to fully describe her reaction to him.

“Just means you’re normal.” Kyra smiled. “Any woman would swoon being close enough to smell Gianni’s cologne. You’re reaction was perfectly justified.”

“To flee the room, unable to meet his eyes? That’s normal?”

“Well…” Kyra seemed to reconsider. “That might be a tad extreme.”

Leah took advantage of the brief silence to take a big bite of grilled cheese.

Kyra removed the top layer of her bread and added some pepper before replacing it. “What are you going to do about it?”

Leah rolled her eyes. “Right. Like Gianni would ever look at me twice. The only way that is going to happen is if I ungracefully drop something else at his feet.”

“It’s a thought.”

“No, I’ll get over it.”

“You’ll see him again, you know.”

A finger of anxiety rose inside Leah’s chest. “Oh, God. For some reason I hadn’t thought of that.”

Kyra continued, “He’s kind of unavoidable if you work in the New York fashion scene. And he is one of the most desirable bachelors around. He’s wealthy, and he’s eye candy.”

Leah already knew about his desirability. “And the women line up to do his bidding, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure, although I haven’t seen him with anyone steady. But his arm hasn’t been empty at the events where I’ve spotted him.”

Leah tried to sound more casual than she felt. “Why don’t
you
go after him, then?”

Kyra nibbled a corner of her sandwich. “Not my type.”

“Gorgeous, wealthy, available…what part of that doesn’t suit you?”

“It’s not that.” Kyra paused, as if thinking of how to phrase it. “He’s kind of…stern, or something. I can see it in his eyes.”

Leah had noticed something different about Gianni, but she wouldn’t have phrased it as
stern
. Intense, maybe. “Hmm, I didn’t get that from him. Powerful. Controlled, for sure.”

Kyra raised a hand. “
Stern
…like I said.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Maybe not.” Kyra dabbed at her perfect lips with a napkin. “New York Fashion Week is exciting but stressful. And it’s only days away.”

Leah returned to reality, though Gianni wasn’t completely banished from her thoughts. “Speaking of that, I better get back. I have a lot to do also.” She pulled on her coat. “You have to help me with something, though.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be attending the show, and I don’t want to look like this.”

“Like what?”

Her friend was too kind. “Like I always look,” Leah said. “A bit mousy or out of style or something. I was too busy studying marketing in school to work on my wardrobe.”

“It will be fun to dress you.” Kyra waved her hands. “I get all kinds of clothes from shows. And not all of them are for six-foot Barbie dolls.”

Leah giggled. “Okay then, that makes me feel better. We’ll figure out a time to get together.”

Kyra grabbed the half sandwich, still wrapped, and stood up. She hugged Leah again before making her way out of the shop. After they parted, Leah headed toward the showroom. There was a lot to do, and the show was coming up sooner than seemed possible. With any luck, her boss would be lunching with clients, and she wouldn’t have to face him on the way to her desk.

When she entered the cavernous space, the quiet told her that her wish had come true. Vadim was never silent; he was always talking with customers or on the phone. There was another clerk sorting through new arrivals who smiled as she walked by. Leah needed to get to know her coworkers better, but right then she wasn’t in the mood.

Her office had just enough room for her desk, chair, and bookshelf. Leah closed the door and plopped into her chair. She scanned emails to see if anything was urgent, and read Vadim’s terse reply to her report on the symposium. Then she closed her eyes.

Talking about Gianni with Kyra had brought back how it felt to be near him. Leah knew she had to put it out of her mind, but she couldn’t. Dreaming was one thing she was good at. Though she had no delusions that anything would happen between them, she couldn’t help fantasizing. Just a few weeks ago, she would have written it all down in her journal. But after losing the treasured book, she wasn’t inspired to buy another.

It was better not to put her secret thoughts down on paper. Someone else might actually read them. But the images of her desires were hers alone to view. With her eyes still closed, Leah imagined having Gianni touch her. She wanted to feel his power and breathe in his masculinity. And her body responded. Her arousal increased as she let her thoughts wander to more decadent scenes.

If only. But Leah knew it was not to be. She forced her eyes open and willed herself to dive into the work that needed to be done. But her focus just wasn’t there. When the end of the day came, she left her office quickly, anxious to be alone with her intimate musings.

At her apartment, she found she wasn’t really hungry for dinner. Instead, she opened a bottle of wine and sipped one glass. Then another. Naked, and with her nipples hard, Leah took a steaming shower, envisioning Gianni standing behind her. Her hand slipped down her slick belly and touched between her legs.

The man she wanted wasn’t with her, but she could pretend. Hadn’t that been her way for so long? It wasn’t as good, but it did give some satisfaction. Without it, Leah would really lose her mind. The urges she felt were strong. She wondered if other women felt the things she did to the same degree.

Though she chatted about dates and such, Leah didn’t share sexual details. Maybe she was shy in that way, or maybe it was too personal. So there was no way to compare her sexuality to anyone else’s. And it wouldn’t matter anyway. She’d always been how she was, and it wasn’t likely to change.

Warm and dry, Leah wrapped up in her bathrobe and climbed the stairs to her bed. Snuggled under the comforter, she pulled out one of her favorite books of poetry, and read Lord Byron’s “She Walks in Beauty.” It was hauntingly beautiful and romantic.

At the end of the page, Leah looked up at the ceiling, thinking about the woman in the poem, the simple imagery of her charm and elegance. And she thought of Lord Byron and how he must have felt when he wrote it.

Then Gianni came to mind, though he’d never really left, and she grasped a fistful of her hair, longing for him. He didn’t even know her, nor did Leah know him. Yet she thought of him constantly after just one brief introduction. And she wondered what he was doing right then.