Tamed by You (9 page)

There was challenge in his eyes as he stripped slowly out of his suit, down to his boxers. He stood before her like an Italian god.

She wanted to lap him up. She dropped her gaze to his boxers. "I'm waiting."

"You'll have to wait longer." He walked to the tub and got in without taking them off.

"Modesty?" she asked with a lift of her eyebrow.

"I want to keep your virtue in tact," he said as he eased in. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back. "Is this what you do while I'm out?"

"Only once a day. Okay, sometimes twice."

He cracked an eye open and looked at her.

"I like to soak." She surreptitiously moved her legs so she wouldn't be tempted to rub against his. "This is a good tub, even if it looks like Caesar's lost palace. Who'd you get to design this house? I thought Liberace was dead."

"It came this way when I rented it
for Daniela.
"

"And you still wanted to live here."

"Maybe I enjoy the sense of absurdity." He eyed her. "You obviously like living here."

She couldn't deny it. Something about the place felt more like home than her fashionable bungalow in the Hollywood hills. "I felt like slumming."

He made a sound.

She watched him silently. His head propped back on the edge of the tub, his eyes half-lidded. He looked so relaxed and at ease with himself. How did he achieve that? Was it an act? She didn't think so. A man like Antonio Rossi, who had everything, didn't need to act like anything other than himself.

"You have your notebook out even here?" he said, startling her.

She turned around, self-consciously closing it under his watchful gaze. "Is that a problem?"

"Defensive. It makes me wonder what you're writing in there." He arched his brow. "You have it with you all the time."

She leaned back, carefully exposing just the top swells of her breasts. Breasts always distracted men.

Apparently Tony was immune. "What do you write in there? Is it a diary?"

She started to frown but caught herself. "It's none of your business."

"You know that only makes me more curious. Maybe I'll sneak into your room and make myself at home while you're out."

Sophie narrowed her eyes. "Do it and risk castration."

"Are you writing about me?"

"Conceited much?" she asked, even if she
had
written about him—a lot.

"What do you write?"

Like hell she was going to tell him. But then she heard herself say, "Scenes."

"Scenes?" He sat up. "Are you writing a screenplay?"

She bristled at how surprised he sounded. "What if I am?"

"Then you should do it."

"What?" She gaped at him.

"You have experience with scripts, characters, and stage direction. You'd probably write a good screenplay." He smiled mildly. "Don't tell me you've never thought of it."

She hadn't, not beyond a way to pass the time without going insane from boredom. She turned and stared at her journal. Tony was right: she had ideas. And hadn't every director she'd worked with in recent history accused her of trying to direct the movie?

Pursing her lips, she imagined herself on the other side of the camera. Not that she'd have to be. She could do both. Look at Woody Allen.

Tony skimmed his arms over the water's surface. "This was a good idea."

"I'm full of good ideas," she flirted without thinking about who she was taunting.

He must have sensed it, because he speared her with a look that brooked no nonsense. "Don't, Sophie."

Knowing she was playing with fire, she poked his leg with her toes. "What are you warning me against?"

"You know perfectly well." He grabbed her foot and held it in his hand. "Don't play with me."

She tried pulling her foot away but he held it firm, pressing her arch with his thumb in warning. She bit her lip against a moan. Good, in so many ways. "Careful, or I'll recruit you for a foot massage."

"You should be so lucky." He rubbed her, slow and deliberate. "I've been begged for my foot rubs."

She believed it. He was barely putting any effort into it and she was practically purring. "Now who's taunting who?"

"I don't taunt, Sophie."

The way he focused on her made her want to jump out of the Jacuzzi and run back to Los Angeles. It made her want to climb onto his lap and kiss him until he was the one begging.

As if he could read her thoughts, he let go of her and hopped out of the tub. Water sluiced down his body, and his boxers clung to his backside in a way that made her mouth go dry.

She was so distracted that she almost didn't register when he turned around and held out a towel.

"Are we done?" she asked regretfully, staring at his proffered hand.

"We never started."

The finality of his tone stung. He didn't think she was good enough for him, to represent or to be intimate with.

Why did that come as a surprise? Why did she care what he thought?

Not wanting him to see that she felt hurt, she arched her brow, projecting the haughty diva she'd perfected so long ago, and climbed out of the Jacuzzi. She snapped the towel out of his hand to distract him from her naked body and wrapped it around herself. "If you can't recognize a good thing when you see it, then—"

"Sweetheart, there's not a bit of good in you
.
You're all bad." He caught the front of her towel. "And this idea is worse."

Before she could ask what he meant, he pulled her into him and kissed her.

Her toes curled.

Usually as she was being kissed, her mind drifted to other things, like whatever part she was rehearsing. Or her next appointment with her trainer, or whether she needed to start considering Botox.

But Tony demanded her attention. The only thought she had was
More
. She braced her hands on his chest and let herself dissolve into him in a way that she'd never done before with any man.

His hand speared into her hair, and he deepened the kiss. He lifted her to him, making her meet him halfway.

She wanted to meet him. Her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to wrap her arms and legs around him and cling to him. She wanted to let her towel drop and invite him to feast on her, just so she could have the chance to feast on him.

She'd never been so hungry for a man in her entire life.

The thought terrified her.

The thought excited her.

Tony lifted his head and let her go.

She couldn't tell what he was thinking, and that scared her. "Why did you do that?" she asked.

"Temporary insanity."

Her soul drooped. She'd wanted him to say he'd lost control because she was irresistible, or because he couldn't help himself.

She was a fool. To hide it, she slipped back into being Sophie Martineau. Smiling like a sex kitten to mask her confusion and hurt, she ran a nail down his torso. "Any time you feel insane, lover boy, let me know."

She sashayed out of there, putting extra sway in her walk, and hurried to her room so he wouldn't see the disappointed tear that leaked from her eye.

Chapter Nine

Two days had passed since the kiss, and Valentine couldn't bring herself to call Ethan. Two days had passed, and Valentine couldn't stop thinking about it.

Kissing definitely wasn't something Ethan needed to improve on.

"Martians!" Kristin, the Grounds for Thought barista, yelled.

Valentine jumped and looked around before the exclamation registered on her. She frowned at Kristin.

The woman laughed, holding out two to-go cups. "I couldn't get your attention."

Lola Carmichael, one of the other patrons, grinned and saluted Valentine with her cup. "You have to admit, it was kind of funny."

She shook her head ruefully. "My mind's just been elsewhere."

Lola and Kristin looked at each other with raised brows. Lola said, "This sounds like a man issue."

"Ethan isn't just a man," she said. "He's a force of nature, and he's wreaking havoc with my ecosystem."

Lola leaned forward, eyes bright. "Ethan's a great hero's name. Strong, but understanding. Definitely better than, say—"

"Atticus," Kristin interjected.

They both looked at her.

Wiping the counter, the barista shrugged. "Admit it. Neither one of you would date someone named Atticus."

"I would. He sounds grand all over," Lola said with a lascivious smirk.

"You're such a romance writer." Kristin turned to Valentine. "A word of unsolicited advice?"

"Okay," she agreed carefully.

"Just do him. It might be forever. It might not be. But if you don't do him, you'll always wonder."

Valentine turned to Lola.

The writer nodded. "If you were a heroine in my book, I'd get you in bed with him by chapter three."

"Um. Okay." She hugged the cups to her chest, not sure what to say. "Thanks. I think."

The women smiled at her and then began to discuss the merits of hooking up with a man named Atticus.

Licking a drop from the lid of her cup, Valentine thought about what they said as she strolled back to her office. Should she?

She relived the kiss. He'd
made her
want
it
before h
is mouth got anywhere near hers
.
He'd made sure she
was dying to feel him on her lips.

It'd been eye-opening. She'd never been kissed like that before—like she was something to be savored. A decadent dessert. Like she was salted caramel crème brûlée and he wanted to lick every bit of her off the plate.

She'd never felt like caramel crème brûlée before. She saw herself more like strawberry shortcake.

Which was why she couldn't call him. Seeing him again was like getting on a speed train to temptation, and that was a ride she didn't need to take. Not while her mom was so unstable.

Meaning she could abandon matching Ethan and find someone else. Or she could forge ahead and find someone for him.

She didn't like either option.

The
Matchmaker
sign flickered once as she approached her office, as though winking at her. She stuck her tongue out at it and braced herself as she descended into the office.

The smile she'd pasted on her face faded when she saw
her mother on her hands and knees next to the couch. She gasped and hurried in. "Mom, are you okay?"

"Yes, of course."
Venus
looked up with a frown
, a smear of dirt on her cheek
. "Help me move this table."

"That table weighs a ton." She set the to-go cups on the table in question. "We
won't
be able to move it."

"How did you get it here?"

She'd asked Alex, a guy that she'd gone out with once or twice. But
the last thing she wanted to bring up was
her love life,
so
she just shrugged
and made something up
. "I had them put it there when they delivered it."

"It's in the wrong place." Venus stood, hands on her hips, frowning at the offending piece of furniture. "It's throwing off the flow of the space.
No wonder you aren't getting clients.
"

If only she could blame her ineptitude on the table
. "It's fine where it is, Mom."

"Details, Valentine. You need to pay attention to the details.
"

She gritted her teeth against a retort. At least her mom was in the office instead of holed up in the apartment like she had been the first few days. She even looked more like herself despite the smudge of dirt on her face. At least she'd gotten dressed in a suit, all the parts and pieces matching, just like she used to. The only thing that gave away her state of mind was the tightness around her eyes and mouth.

Venus pointed at the cups. "
Is
one
for me?"

"
Yes." Valentine handed one over. "
I got you a Nutella latte. It's one of
the specialties at Grounds for Thought
."

"I wanted a mocha."

According to Venus Jones, chocolate was the quintessential romantic food, so if it was an option, she always opted for it. Isabella was the same way.

Valentine didn't love chocolate. She'd pick hazelnut, or caramel, or even vanilla before she chose chocolate. Which was why she loved Eve's Nutella latte.

But her mom was looking at it like it was rat poison. Valentine sighed. "Nutella is a sexy, romantic product. Just try it. You'll be surprised."

Venus didn't look convinced, but she took a small sip. Her eyebrows shot up. "It's no mocha, but it's not terrible."

Her shoulders relaxed at her mother's proclamation.

"Sit down, Valentine." Her mother pointed at a chair. "Let's go over your progress."

Just like that, her shoulders tensed again. Clutching her latte like a lifeline, she sat in the appointed seat. Not wanting to face an inquisition but wanting her mother to be engaged, she decided to take the offense. "I signed up five people in the last week."

"Yes." Her mother put on her reading glasses and pulled out a file.

One or two of those profiles had been made up, with information and photos she'd taken off eHarmony, but her mom didn't need to know that. "I figure I'll have the other five by next week."

"Hmm," her mother replied noncommittally as she flipped through her papers. "I was looking at the man you just signed. Ethan Hunter."

Valentine tensed. "What about him?" she asked carefully.

"You were right. He seems promising. Here we go." Her mother brandished a page with a triumphant smile. "I went through your database and pulled out some candidates I thought would suit him."

She hid her frown behind her coffee cup. She had a hard time imagining any woman worthy of him and his kisses. "Hmm."

"Take a look and see what you think."

Reluctantly, she took the list from her mother, wincing when she saw Nicole's name on it. She set it aside. "I thought I'd concentrate of finding the other five people I promised you."