His to Love (Fireside #1) Page 9

  “There’s that smile I love,” Claude said, walking into the kitchen. “Any particular reason you seem so pleased this afternoon? A gentleman caller perhaps?”

  My smile disappeared, and I thought of the gentleman who’d called me versus the one who I’d called. There was no comparison between the two. I was stuck entertaining the one I didn’t want for an entire evening.

  I shook my head and looked down at my screen. “No, Claude. Not really.”

  “Hmm. A shame, really. I always imagined you with a lovely husband, a man who adores you, and a brood of children.”

  I laughed softly at his description. “Yeah, well if my parents have their way, I’ll get none of that.”

  My head snapped up and my lips pressed together. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  No one disrespected my father’s wishes, and no one spoke against him. Things I’d forgotten, but in their house, I needed to remember that. Claude was kind, but he was still my father’s employee and therefore would always be more loyal to him than to me and my frustrated ramblings.

  “No worries,” Claude said, clearly uncomfortable. “Have a good day.” He walked to me, brushed his lips against my cheek and whispered, “Be careful, bella. Eyes and ears are everywhere.”

  “Of course,” I muttered when he pulled back.

  My shoulders sagged as he shuffled out of the kitchen, back to do whatever he was supposed to do. I pulled up my text messaging and sent Tyson a message.

  Me: So sorry. Won’t be able to see you tonight.

  Then I reluctantly slid out of my chair and packed up what I had brought with me to my parents’. On my way up the stairs to say goodbye to my mom for the day, my phone vibrated.

  Blackbird: Unfortunately, I have a client who just returned to town so I’ll be busy too.

  Disappointment flickered inside me because I wouldn’t have been able to see him anyway. Silly, really, since I was the one that originally said I had plans.

  Me: Some other time?

  Blackbird: Yes. I can still feel you on my lips.

  I swallowed thickly as I read the text, my body heating in all the right places when another text came in.

  Blackbird: I want to feel you in other places, too…Tomorrow?

  Me: Yes.

  I typed the word, the answer, the promise, without thinking, and before I could see his response, already knowing my cheeks were flushed, I silenced my phone, dropped it into my purse, and headed into my mother’s room.

  All the while, a smile fought to break through. Because I will get to see Tyson. Tomorrow.

  Chapter 8

  I stepped into the lobby of my hotel five minutes before Malik was supposed to arrive, properly dressed in a simple but elegant black sheath dress that stopped just above my knees. The dress was conservative, with a wide neck that reached my collarbone and, because it was sleeveless, I had a silver pashmina draped over my elbows and across the back of my waist in case I felt chilly later. On my feet were simple high-heeled nude pumps, also conservative, but they made my already long and toned legs look like they went on forever, though not in an overtly sexual manner.

  Dressing for tonight’s dinner was not easy; I wanted to look appropriate and like someone who should be seen on Rilotti’s arm, knowing wherever he planned on taking me, eyes would follow. Yet the last thing I wanted was for him to think he could have more just by exposing skin. I didn’t want there to be any confusion as to why I agreed to meet with him, and I planned to make that clear at dinner. I wouldn’t consider this. I had not agreed to any arrangement, as he so ineloquently put it earlier.

  Something heavy swirled in my gut and I pressed my hand to my lower belly. Malik Rilotti was a man accustomed to getting whatever he wanted, and I doubted the way he achieved that was any more moral or ethical than the way my own father did.

  With a heavy swallow, I tightened my hand on my small silver clutch and I tried to shake off my nerves. Bangles on my wrist clitter-clattered with the sudden, short movements. It echoed in my ears and it was the only sound I heard until a sleek, black town car pulled to the curb.

  Then everything fell silent.

  I froze as I watched the valet open the back door. My pulse jumped to my throat as the back door opened and Malik unfolded himself from the backseat.

  I had met him only a few times in my life when my family hosted parties at our house. I would have been a young child and teenager then, and hadn’t given his appearance or his looks any thought. At the time, he had just been my father’s co-worker. To say I noticed now would be an understatement. He was truly stunning. He most likely had no problems finding a woman to warm his bed. My guess? He didn’t even have to snap his fingers to get a woman to fall at his feet. He could probably stun them all with a knowing glance.

  Tall, clearly over six feet, his frame was leaner than I expected as I watched him slip a tip into the valet’s hand and glide into the hotel. Yes, glide. He was so smooth, his feet didn’t appear to touch the ground as he made his way to me in a sleek black suit with a white dress shirt opened at the throat and no tie. His thick black hair was speckled at the temples with just hints of gray, but he was clearly and instantly one of the most refined, sexually magnetic men I had ever seen in my life.

  His black eyes fell to me and his full, dark lips separated into a welcoming smile.

  “Gabriella,” he murmured, his voice soft and rich. He moved in close, and I had to fight a flinch when his large, firm hand settled on my hip. His lips brushed against one of my cheeks then the other before he pulled back. “You are stunning.”

  I flushed under his praise instinctively. He knew how to look, how to touch. Most women probably lost their minds around this man. I didn’t even want him, and yet I was finding it difficult not to preen under his appreciative gaze.

  I swallowed and then remembered my manners. “Good evening, Malik.”

  His eyes flickered with amusement and his lips quirked on one side. “Are you ready to go?”

  No. No I wasn’t. I had the sudden urge to chuck my heels and take off running to my room and hide under the covers for eternity. This man’s presence was disarming and frightening.

  But I couldn’t fight him. There was no way.

  With my nod, his hand on my hip slid to my lower back. He turned and guided me out of the hotel and into the car.

  The entire time, I felt where he touched me, felt the heat from him at my side, and I’d be lying if I were to say that it didn’t affect me. It did. His power and prestige along with his elegance and grace was unmatchable. He was much like my father, instantly commanding respect and honor with a look and a touch.

  Perhaps it was because I was raised to follow, to obey without question, but I couldn’t deny that as he sat in the seat next to me, staying an appropriate distance away from me on the back bench, that I felt a pull to do both, without questioning him, either.

  It was distressing and I looked out the window, trying to gather my scattered thoughts when his voice cut in.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

  I blinked out the window, worrying my lower lip between my teeth before I set it free and turned to him. “I promised my mother I would consider this.”

  Something akin to disappointment flashed across his face before he hid it. “I see.”

  And I hated that even though I didn’t want to be with him, in any way, I still felt that disappointment cling to me, slither its way into my chest, and grip me painfully.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean that as harshly it sounded.”

  His smile widened fractionally. “I cannot fault you for your honesty. But I’m hoping by the end of the evening, you will be giving this idea more than just consideration.”

  Doubtful. Highly. Yet I had risked offending him enough, so I matched his smile, waited for his approving nod, and then turned back to the window. We were relatively quiet on our way to wherever he planned, and I watched the city of
Detroit slide past the windows. Tall, well-lit buildings so high I had to crane my neck in order to see the tops of them as we sped by.

  “I forgot how large this city is,” I said quietly, breaking the silence. “And how loud it can be.”

  Glancing at Malik, I saw him press his lips together. “I imagine life in Colorado was much simpler.”

  “It was.” I smiled fondly, remembering Aunt Eleanor, whom I was beginning to miss dearly. She had essentially been my only friend and confidante for the last decade, and I missed her quiet, gentle wisdom. It always made me wonder what my mother used to be like, before she became fully immersed in the Galecki family role of hostess and high-society socialite. “It was definitely simple, quiet. I’ve only been gone a few days, but I already miss the stars.”

  Without missing a beat, Malik pressed a button in the car and began speaking. “Johan. Change of plans. Dinner will be on the Palace’s terrace. Please make the appropriate arrangements and cancel our existing reservation.”

  A clear voice responded, “Certainly, sir. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Malik let go of the intercom button. I hadn’t been able to see the driver due to a privacy screen that had been in place the entire time I was in the car. My eyes widened. “What did you just do?”

  Malik simply smiled. It was gentle and kind and did weird things to my heart rate. “You will find, Gabriella, that if there is a woman on my arm or in my company, I will do whatever is necessary to see her desires fulfilled.”

  His voice had deepened by the time he finished the sentence. My heartbeat went more erratic. All I did was mention stars. And I racked my brain for a restaurant called the Palace Terrace but came up empty. Still, whatever he was doing, he seemed to think it would please me.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick with unease and surprise.

  —

  “Your home is called the Palace?” I asked with wide-eyed wonder as the car pulled into a wide, curved drive.

  Not that I didn’t get why. It was massive, with peaks, gables, and gray stone that gave it the appearance of a castle. His home must sit on acres. I couldn’t see another home or even a streetlight anywhere in the vicinity as we drove up his driveway. I realized that I hadn’t seen any for several minutes before that.

  But there was one thing I clearly saw as my eyes scanned around me after he assisted me out of the car.

  Millions of things, actually.

  Stars. Millions of bright lights danced all over the sky and my stomach fluttered and flipped.

  Then it did the strange warm, flipping thing again when he guided me toward his house.

  “Some of my men took to calling it that when it was my father’s place, and the name stuck.”

  I nodded, only barely listening to him. My eyes flickered between the house and the sky and I was so overwhelmed that I almost felt the need to stop and catch my breath.

  Without much fanfare, he opened the front door and ushered me in. He continued guiding me, a gentle hand at the small of my back, through his house. I could barely take in the opulence as I got small, fleeting glances, but everything I saw screamed rich and fabulous and money in an incredibly elegant way. Much like my own home. These men not only had power, they had class, despite the fact they ran the seedy underbelly of Detroit and other cities in neighboring states.

  The thought, the reminder, was heady and I almost stumbled over my own feet. Trying to hide my discomfort, I blurted, “Did your wife decorate this house?”

  Malik’s jaw went tight, and an indescribable mixture of pain and fury boiling in his onyx eyes made me look away.

  Clearly I had blurted out the wrong thing.

  “Sorry,” I muttered quickly. “I’m so sorry.”

  I was going to apologize again when Malik reached for a sliding glass door, opening it without a sound.

  The cool breeze that billowed in helped me breathe again.

  “It’s fine.”

  It wasn’t fine. I only knew his wife died approximately five years ago, but it was clearly still a sensitive topic. Silently, I cursed my brain to filter malfunction.

  The horrific energy continued to pulse off of him while he led me to a beautifully decorated outside dining area on his covered patio. Small, twinkling white lights were wound around wood beams and through an overhead trellis. The table had been set with china and crystal, and there was a set of candles in the center of the table. They were well-used, all melted at different heights and, combined with the glitter of the lights, they created an incredibly romantic setting.

  My pulse leaped inside my chest as I took my seat. Behind me, Malik pushed my chair in. I fought for more words to apologize, to get us over my fumble while he sat down in the seat across from me. His square jaw, completely free from any hint of stubble, was still flexed tightly and his hands fidgeted with the silverware before he finally pulled his eyes up and landed them straight on me.

  I swallowed, so unsure of what was to come when it seemed as if he was fighting to relax.

  “No one speaks of her anymore.”

  Blinking rapidly, I—again—stupidly said, “Why?”

  Gah! Shut up. I reached for a glass of ice water and took a large sip. Perhaps I could choke on an ice cube and die.

  With a heavy sigh, Malik looked away from me into the darkness of his yard behind me. I felt him go to another world as his eyes glassed over and his features softened. Even at forty-three, his attractiveness was certainly undeniable.

  I had only vague memories of his wife, when she had accompanied him to events I was allowed to attend or dinners at my house. I remembered she was beautiful and refined, with a hand always on Malik’s forearm and a smile that seemed more slick and calculating than warm and loving.

  But it wasn’t for me to judge someone else’s relationship when I’d had so few of my own.

  “Analise passed in her sleep, in our bed, of unexplainable causes.”

  I gasped and my fingers pressed against my lips. “I’m so sorry. Malik, truly, I had no idea, and I’m so sorry for bringing her up.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, still looking somewhat forlorn—perhaps confused that he said so much. But he quickly shook off whatever he was thinking about and smiled sadly at me. “No one speaks of her, as if she didn’t exist. I’m not angry with you, I was just surprised.”

  I licked my suddenly dry lips and took another sip of water. “I’d like to move on from this, if you’d like.”

  His smile grew wider, slightly more genuine. “Please. Tell me about Colorado.”

  I normally could speak of Colorado all day long. There was so much; from the farm, to the animals, even my online college classes at CU. I knew this because yesterday, the words had flowed so easily with Tyson. But when staring into this man’s eyes, a man who still seemed sad, a little bit angry, and a whole lot intimidating, my memories simply didn’t come as easily. I fumbled through them and began telling him about working on the farm, and then watched as his expression morphed into something that appeared to be disgust.

  “Does your father know you were doing this?” he asked abruptly while I was in the middle of telling him about collecting eggs from the chicken coop.

  My head jerked back. “Well, he’s never specifically asked what I spent my time doing,” I replied, thrown by the question.

  “I can’t believe your father, the man he is, would want his daughter digging in dirt and doing manual labor.”

  The words dripped from his lips with disdain. I could only think that I was sure my father didn’t give a damn. But to say that to Malik would certainly not go over well.

  I was saved from having to answer at all when a server, an older woman dressed in black slacks, black shirt, and a white apron appeared on the patio. She pushed a silver cart, loaded with a bottle of wine, chilled in ice, and two dome-covered plates.

  Everything sparkled and gleamed in the lights and I was suddenly bothered by all of this.

  The show.

  T
he formality.

  The romance feigned for a stranger.

  It was all a seductive dance by Malik to secure his spot as leader by having a Mafia princess on his arm, and I realized I didn’t care if he didn’t like what I spent my time doing. I didn’t care if he found me acceptable. As he thanked the server, a woman whose name I didn’t catch because I wasn’t introduced to her, as if either she—or I—was insignificant, I forced my lip not to curl when he spoke to her in Italian.

  Based on his accent, and his fluency with the language, it was clear he had lived there at some point in his life and for quite a while.

  Still, it annoyed me. It felt as if he was brushing me off by not even attempting to include me in a conversation. She strolled from the patio and, in an effort to calm myself, I reached for the wine he poured for me.

  “It’s delicious,” I said, trying to get away from emotions coursing through me. This whole night was a waste of time.

  I no longer cared if this request was from my mother, or my father. I didn’t particularly care that this man could fill my wallet, closet, and jewelry boxes with more riches than I could possibly dream of.

  Through Eleanor, I had learned those things in life didn’t matter.

  Through my mother, I had learned that love mattered most.

  I blinked away the thoughts, unwilling to show my frustration and my anger. It was not a revelation that I was being used. It was simply one that hit home as I took in an elegance that was completely…not me. Not at all. My name may have been Gabriella Galecki, but I’d always been more Blue or Ella than my given name. I fought it for the first twenty-eight years of my life, and I refused to give in now.

  Not when I had come so close to being able to live free.

  “Is the meal not acceptable to you?” Malik asked, bringing me back to the moment and the company.

  He gestured to my untouched plate of lobster and scallops with a knife and arched a brow.

  I reached for my silverware. “Sorry. Just distracted tonight.” Flashing him a smile I hoped appeared honest, I said, “My apologies.”