THE phone was ringing when Tara walked through the door of her apartment at twenty-five minutes after five. She sprinted across the small foyer and picked it up from the hall stand. “Hello?”
“Hey, hon…just wanted to make sure you’re not going to dress like a bag lady now that the big boss is coming.”
Danette.
“Sheesh…you called me to bug me about what I’m going to wear to your casual barbecue? Don’t you have better things to do?”
“Right…it’s casual and that means shorts and a T-shirt. Don’t you dare show up in one of your casual-but-really-they-are-for-work-outfits.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “What difference does it make?”
“Well, now that’s an interesting question. It shouldn’t make any difference…to you. I mean, if you’re really not interested in the boss, then you shouldn’t be bothered exposing a little flesh around him.”
The idea of being around Angelo and wearing a pair of hip-hugging shorts and T-shirt that showed a glimpse of her stomach when she raised her arms made Tara’s body flush with heat…and not from embarrassment.
“Come on,” Danette added, “it’s over eighty degrees outside. Be practical.”
“I won’t show up in a skirt and hose!”
“You’d better not and don’t forget your swimsuit.” Danette had sole use of the pool area at her condo complex to host her barbecue.
Tara loved the water, but if wearing shorts around Angelo made her jumpy, how would she deal with a swimsuit? “I’m not going to be swimming.”
“Oh, please…did I mention it’s eighty-some degrees out there? Of course if you get too hot and want to cool off, I could lend you one of mine.”
Remembering her friend’s penchant for string bikinis that showed more flesh than some bandages, Tara made a note to grab her own suit.
Just in case.
Angelo rang Tara’s doorbell with more anticipation than he’d felt for a date in years.
Tara Peters was every bit as beautiful as her photos had shown, but she was also a very intriguing woman. He had no difficulty understanding Randall’s fascination with her.
Angelo wanted her, too, which made this aspect of his revenge against the other man sweet indeed.
The door to her modest brownstone swung open and his breath suspended in his chest, all thought ceasing in a wave of shrieking male hunger that had him wanting to push her back into the apartment and claim her body as his own.
Denim shorts clung to her curves, stopping high enough on her thigh to make her well-toned, honey tanned legs look miles long. Her lemon-yellow T-shirt did some clinging of its own, revealing the fact her bra was so flimsy he could see her nipples peaking through the soft cotton.
Tara’s arms came up and crossed over her breasts in a protective gesture that brought home to him the fact he’d been staring at her like a crass teenager watching a striptease.
Angelo’s gaze traveled up to her face. She’d pulled her hair up into a ponytail. Still wearing no makeup. “You look about eighteen.”
A damn sexy eighteen and he was glad he knew she was twenty-four or he would feel like a lecher with the thoughts going through his mind.
“And you don’t look like a corporate magnate,” she said smartly.
He leaned against the doorjamb, interested in the way she backed up a step as if his closeness bothered her. “Are you saying my business suits are all that stand between me and mediocrity?”
She laughed abruptly and shook her head. “You could never be an average guy. And I hate to tell you this, but most of the men at the barbecue are not going to be wearing Armani T-shirts and Ralph Lauren shorts.”
His brows rose.
She grinned at him. “I used to be a fashion model. Identifying designers is my stock in trade. I can tell a knockoff designer bag a mile off.”
“I’m not similarly gifted.”
Her look said she doubted his words and he almost smiled. Men in his world often knew a great deal about women’s fashion for the expedient reason that it made it easier to buy gifts a certain type of female would truly appreciate.
That sort of woman had never appealed to him.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
She nodded, grabbing her tote bag from the floor beside the door.
She waited for him to back up, but he merely shifted his body slightly so she could get by him. Tara gingerly stepped around him, as if afraid to touch him, but equally determined not to show it. He inhaled her scent, letting it tease his senses, before stepping back so she could shut the door.
Angelo’s position forced her to stand mere inches from his body as she locked up. Then he led her outside to his car, where he took pains to invade her personal space buckling her in and adjusting her seatbelt. She was breathing in shallow pants, her eyes vague with suppressed desire by the time he straightened and shut her door. Good.
She wanted him and it wouldn’t be long before he would have her—despite her aversion to wealthy tycoons.
The thought brought him harsh satisfaction. His revenge against the man who used and discarded people like trash was close at hand. However, unlike Baron Randall, once Angelo had Tara, he wasn’t sure he’d let her go.
And that might be the best revenge of all.
“How many pictures do you need for your scrapbook?” Tara demanded of Danette as the woman’s annoying boyfriend snapped yet another shot.
Angelo didn’t like Ray’s preoccupation with Tara, either, and was on the verge of making his displeasure known in a very basic way.
Danette shrugged her slim shoulders. “You can never have too many. And you’ve got to admit, even without makeup, you’re awfully photogenic.”
About that, Angelo had to agree.
But Tara grimaced. “I think I’m going to rue the day you took up your new scrapbook hobby.”
“Hey, we aren’t all so focused on work that we don’t have outside interests.”
“I have outside interests.”
“Name one.”
“I volunteer at the Boys and Girls club once a week.”
That hadn’t been in her file, Angelo took a mental note.
Danette snorted delicately. “Right, but you’re doing almost the same thing at the club as you do at Primo Tech.”
“Hardly.”
“You manage staff resources. How is that different?”
“The staff is made up of volunteers.”
Even Angelo could tell Tara was stretching the truth and it made him smile. For a woman dedicated to work-life effectiveness, she was lousy at practicing what she preached. “So, you volunteer at the Boys and Girls club, but you don’t connect with the kids?” he asked.
She turned to face him, her expression mirroring her surprise and some embarrassment. “I didn’t realize you were there.”
He handed her a cranberry spritzer over ice. “Your drink, as promised.”
He’d been taking care of her in small ways like this one since they arrived at the barbecue and she didn’t seem to know how to take it. Apparently other men in her life