“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.
Belatedly coming to terms with how her not-so-innocent enjoyment could be misinterpreted, she quickly opened her eyes. Straightening in her chair, she tried to wipe the pleasure from her expression and willed her unruly body to calm down.
Her spoon clattered to the table in her haste to let it go. “Um, it’s very good. You were right.” She forced her gaze to meet his, afraid of what she would see, but unwilling to play the coward. “I guess I got a little carried away there.”
Blue eyes looked back at her with hunger, but he shook his head. “Relax. You look like you think I’m going to pounce.”
“Aren’t you?” She wasn’t an idiot and she wasn’t a tease. She knew what her reaction had to have looked like to him.
A total come-on, despite all she’d said about not wanting to get involved.
“You’ve made your view of a relationship between the two of us very clear, Tara.” He spoke as if instructing a small child and perversely she wanted to tell him she was anything but. “I’m not going to read an invitation in a former model’s obvious love of feeding her starved sweet tooth.”
“Thank you.” And she should feel grateful. Extremely grateful.
Not disappointed.
“No problem. Now, enjoy your dessert.”
He’d let her off the hook with his assurance, so why did she feel even further enmeshed in his web than before?
“So, how was dinner?” Danette asked in a low undertone as she and Tara worked on slides for a presentation their manager was supposed to give to Angelo and the top management string the following morning.
Tara looked around, thankful no one was nearby enough to overhear her friend’s question. The dinner last night had been strictly business, but that wasn’t necessarily how others would interpret it.
After her affair with Baron, she’d been the butt of enough gossip to last her a lifetime. “Shh. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
Danette’s hazel eyes widened, darkening to green with a knowing gleam. “So it wasn’t just business.”
“No,” Tara snapped, then realized her answer had come out wrong. “I mean yes…I mean it was business and only business.” If she didn’t count the orgasmic dessert. “Okay?”
“I don’t know. Angelo Gordon is a real hottie and you seem pretty frazzled for a woman who had a strictly business date last night.”
“It wasn’t a date at all.”
“Are you saying he didn’t make a move on you?”
How did she answer that? Had their conversation at the beginning of dinner been a move? She thought maybe it had, but then he’d backed off pretty easily.
She took too long to answer and Danette’s expression turned gleefully calculating. “So, he is attracted to you.”
That was something she couldn’t deny without lying. “Could we drop this discussion? We’ve got work to do.”
“Sure, but, hon, just answer one question…if last night was all business and no play, why are you blushing to the roots of your gorgeous hair?”
Tara still hadn’t come up with an adequate reply to her friend’s teasing comment by the time the other woman left work to get ready for her very real date with a budding journalist.
It had bugged her all day. For something like the hundredth time since waking that morning, she shoved thoughts of Angelo to the back of her mind. She forced herself to concentrate on the papers in front of her.
With no distractions around her and fierce effort, it worked. She was so engrossed that security came to tell her all external entrances but the main one had been secured for the evening before she realized what time it was. She looked at her watch and was shocked to see it was well after seven.
She should have left over two hours ago.
Muscles cramped from long hours of sitting in