“No,” she said, her throat thick, deciding her lack of interest in the casino scene might be best left unspoken. “I’m a bit of a workaholic. I don’t get out much.”
His gaze narrowed ever-so-slightly. “We’ll have to fix that,” he said, again his voice low, his words spoken to her as if Michael wasn’t present. “Parr’s personifies the concept I intend to embrace with this new venture.”
“Which is what concept exactly?” she asked, knowing it was the expected reply and that the answer was going to be a loaded one.
“Divine pleasure,” he drawled. “Every desire made possible, if only for a few days a year while on vacation.” His words, his eyes, his very presence seemed a warm caress with those words. “The atmosphere at Parr’s is elegant, the dishes served like art masterpieces. It is an exploration of the senses—taste, touch, smell. That is what I want each of my casinos to offer.”
Sonya felt her lips part, felt the ache of awareness in every single inch of her body. There was something about this man that reached right inside her and made her melt. She ached with awareness that defied her professional role. She squeezed her legs together and willed the feeling to ease, to no avail. “It sounds like a success waiting to be found.”
He pushed to his feet and Michael instantly followed. Sonya stood as well, smoothing her hand down the slim-cut skirt of her light blue suit. “I’d like to finish this conversation over dinner at Parr’s,” Dante said, clearly speaking to Sonya. He was tall, broad, more dominant than ever, his very demeanor saying he wouldn’t take no for an answer, as he added, “Perhaps by morning we can have this contracted.”
Sonya inhaled slowly, a warning going off in her head. Alone with this man in a place he defined as “divine pleasure” did not seem like a smart move. The look in his eyes, the heat lancing her from their depths, said she better set limits and do it fast—and not just for Dante…for herself, too. “It’s Wednesday. If it’s possible, I’d like to clear my desk and finish up a case. I could be ready by Monday and devote myself to your needs.” The minute she said those words, she knew they were wrong, and only practiced cool kept her from flushing red.
His eyes danced with mischief. “As appealing as your devotion to my needs is, Sonya, I think we still have a few things to discuss before I’m confident I can put my vision in your hands.”
“Don’t worry about your desk,” Michael said. “Any help you need will be offered. Focus on Mr. Ricci’s plans and the rest can be divested to another attorney.”
Dante arched a brow at Sonya, an obvious challenge that said he knew she was sidestepping being alone with him. “What time should I be there?” she asked, her tone cool and collected when she felt anything but.
He smiled his approval and rounded the conference table. “I’ll have a car pick you up at seven.” His hand extended to hers.
Sonya steeled herself for the impact of his touch before sliding her palm against his. “Seven sounds excellent,” she said, her voice softer than she intended, the heat of his fingers closing around hers, stealing her breath.
Seconds passed that felt like hours, his hand over hers, their eyes locked. “Bring your contract,” he said. “Perhaps before the night is over, we can toast to a signed agreement.”
She believed his reasons for choosing her for counsel. No smart business person, and Dante was that and more, chose an attorney based on attraction. She wanted to toast a signed agreement. This agreement, this man, held the key that could finally lead her to her goals. Years of working two jobs to get through college, of piles of bills that had built up while her mother had recovered from a brutal car accident, came down to Dante Ricci. A man who was the only client that had ever made her want more than a contract. But it didn’t matter what she wanted. The temptation he represented, no matter how alluring, was a forbidden one, a path to career suicide. Dante Ricci was off-limits outside pure business.
And that judgment was final.
Chapter Two
It was seven o’clock on the dot when the limo Dante’s secretary had set up in advance pulled to the curb of Sonya’s office building. She shoved open the door and exited into the hot July night, not about to give the uncharacteristic nerves fluttering in her stomach a chance to take root. Nerves that she was all too aware were a product of hours of inappropriate, but oh-so delicious, fantasies about what “divine pleasure” might be with a man like Dante Ricci. She needed to prove to herself, and perhaps to Dante, that this was business and nothing more. She was pretty sure it was time to get a social life. Heck, the closest thing she’d had to a date in a year was her friend/neighbor/sometimes bedroom buddy that had taken a job in New York and left.
The driver, a gray-haired slender man she guessed to be in his fifties, quickly rounded the hood of the vehicle to help her with the door. “I hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long, Ms. Miller,” he said, sounding quite formal.
“Sonya,” she said, noting that he either logically guessed her identity, or Dante was inside the car and had told him. The tingling heat sliding down her spine said it was the latter. “And I just arrived moments before you pulled up.”
He inclined his head. “Jeffrey,” he said and pulled open the door. “The ride is short but if you need anything at all, I’m at your service.”
“Thank you,” she said, thinking the only thing she needed was for Dante to suddenly become a rude jerk, and therefore unappealing. Since she doubted Jeffrey had such a skill in his arsenal of services, she discreetly drew a calming breath and let it out, willing to bet that she was about to be in a highly intimate space with her highly appealing new client.
She slipped her briefcase/purse combination over her shoulder and did her best to hold her skirt in place as she slid inside. The scent of leather and spicy masculine cologne teased her senses even before she brought Dante into focus.
“Mr. Ricci,” she said as she maneuvered a bit to tug her skirt down to about midthigh and squeezed her knees primly together. To Dante’s credit, he was a gentleman and kept his eyes on her face, while she, on the other hand, couldn’t help but notice his jacket was missing and his chest and shoulders flexed impressively beneath his finely tailored button-down shirt. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here or if you were meeting me at the restaurant.”
“Call me Dante,” he said.
“Dante,” she repeated. “And please, call me Sonya.”
Jeffrey shut the door, sealing them in the small space that was every bit as intimate as she’d expected it to be. Seconds ticked by in silence, the air crackling with the kind of instant electricity that only happened when two people shared wicked hot, inescapable chemistry.
“Sonya,” he repeated finally in a voice as rich and sultry as Godiva dark chocolate. And she liked her Godiva dark chocolate way too much for her own good, just like this man. “And I came along for the ride,” he continued, “in case you needed further persuasion to join me for the evening.”
She narrowed her gaze on him, reading the message beneath his words. “You thought I was going to back out?”
“You hesitated to accept my invitation,” he said, his brown eyes as rich with intelligence as his voice was with sensuality. “It seemed a good bet that you might decide to cancel.”
“My boss would have had a conniption fit.”
“Otherwise you might have?”
“I’m not beyond admitting that I considered calling you and asking you to reconsider tonight’s meeting.”
Surprise at her frankness flickered across his handsome, chiseled features. “Because you don’t want my business?”
“I