Sleeping With Her Rival. Sheri WhiteFeather
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schedule the passionfruit tasting on February fourteenth?” he asked. “That seems a little risky to me.”
“Because I was determined to prove that curse wrong. Besides, a flavor called passionfruit made a nice Valentine’s Day promotion.” She drank some more milk. “Or it should have.”
He gathered the tabloids and put them into his briefcase. “You lied to me, Miss Barone. You don’t think the curse is nonsense. You believe in it now.”
Steeped in guilt, she defended herself. “I’m not a superstitious woman, but I should have been more cautious. Some unfortunate things have happened to my family on Valentine’s Day over the years, but those events seemed like coincidence. A fluke here and there.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll repair the damage.”
“No, I will,” she countered.
He shrugged, then taunted her with that slow, sensual smile, reminding her that she’d dreamed about him.
When he stood to leave, she heard a sudden burst of rain hit the windows behind her.
A cool, hard, male-driven rain.
After Flint departed, Gina went straight to her brother’s office. Nicholas held the prestigious COO title, the chief operations officer, at Baronessa Gelati.
He stood well over six feet, with a strong, athletic build, jet-black hair and blue eyes. Women, including his new wife and daughter, found him irresistible. Gina, however, considered herself immune to his charm. He’d abandoned his playboy ways for a blissful marriage, but he still had a high dose of testosterone running through his veins, which made him difficult to manipulate.
“I want you to fire Flint Kingman,” she said.
Nicholas sat behind his desk and rolled his impressive shoulders, looking like the powerful corporate male he was.
“Why?”
Because I dreamed about him, she wanted to say. He invaded my mind, my bed. “Because he’s going to do this company more harm than good.”
“How so?”
“He intends to cook up a phony scandal to divert the press.”
“That’s what he does, Gina. He’s a spin doctor and a damn good one. I trust his instincts.”
“What about my instincts?”
“You’re a bright, capable woman, but this is his area of expertise.”
She sat across from her brother and picked up a rubber band off his desk, wishing she could flick it at him. He was eight years her senior, and he’d always treated her like a child. He used to call her noodle head because curls sprang from her scalp like spiral pasta.
Gina glared at Nicholas and smoothed her hair. These days she tamed her curls in a professional chignon. “So you’re taking Flint’s side?”
He leaned forward, trapping her gaze. “His side? You’re not turning this into a gender war, are you?”
She thought about the apple, the forbidden fruit, she’d tossed at Flint this afternoon. “He bosses me around.”
“Probably because you’re fighting him every step of the way. You’ve got to curb your temper, Gina.”
She stretched the rubber band, wishing she had the courage to let it fly.
“We brought Flint in as a consultant.” Nicholas went on. “The idea is for the two of you to work together.”
“Fine.” She could see this was going nowhere. Coming to her feet, she blew a frustrated breath. Rain still pounded against the windows, reminding her that Flint controlled the weather, too.
Would she ever get that image out of her mind? That long, lean, water-slicked body?
“And don’t go running to Dad about this,” Nicholas warned.
“I don’t intend to,” she responded, trying to sound more grown-up than she felt. “I’ll work with Flint if I have to. But I won’t let him call all the shots.”
Nicholas grinned. “Spoken like a true woman.”
“And don’t you forget it.” She turned to march out of his office, her feminine armor—the tailored suit and high-heeled pumps—securely in place.
“I love you, noodle head,” he said before she reached the door.
She stopped and smiled. She loved Nicholas Barone, too. Even if he was her big, brawny, know-it-all brother.
Hours later Gina drove home, her windshield wipers clapping to the rhythm of the rain. She lived in a brownstone in the North End, a family-owned, renovated building she shared with two of her sisters. They each had their own sprawling apartment, but they often gathered in the community living room on the first floor to curl up with a bowl of extra-buttered popcorn and talk.
She parked her car and walked to the front of the brownstone, only to find Flint sitting on the stoop, his overcoat flapping in the wind.
She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him. He looked up, his face speckled with rain, his waterlogged hair slick and shiny.
“It didn’t work, did it?” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Your brother wouldn’t fire me, would he?”
She moved forward, taking shelter from the storm. How did he know that she’d complained to Nicholas? Was she that predictable?
He rose, attacking her with that insufferable smile. “I want you to have dinner with me tonight.”
Her heart pole-vaulted its way to her throat. “What? Why?”
“So we can get used to each other. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. And there’s no point in wasting time.”
She snuggled deeper into her coat. “But it’s raining.”
He gave her an odd look. “You don’t eat when it rains?”
Of course, she did. She just didn’t relish the idea of spending time in his company, particularly with water falling from the sky.
Then again, maybe a business dinner would take the edge off. Maybe it would help her forget that other image. “Fine. I’ll have a meal with you.” But he’d better not steal food from her plate, she thought.
“Meet me at the Beef and Bull around seven,” he said. It’s a steak house on—”
“I know where it is,” she interrupted. “And I’ll be there at eight.”
“Seven-thirty,” he challenged.
“Eight,” she countered in a firm tone. She needed time to bathe, to change, to fix her rain-drizzled hair.
“All right,” he said, giving in with a grumble. “But don’t be late.”
Gina reached for her keys and sent him a triumphant smile. She’d finally gotten her way. On a small scale, maybe, but it was a start.
At precisely eight o’clock, Flint arrived at the Beef and Bull, a quiet, dimly lit steak house decorated with knotty-pine walls and Western antiques.
He approached the hostess and gave her his name. “I’m expecting a companion,” he said. “Has she arrived yet?”
The young woman shook her head. “No, Mr. Kingman, she hasn’t.”
He gestured to a shadowy corner in the waiting room. “I’ll just kick back over there until she gets here.”
The hostess nodded and smiled. He returned her polite smile and moved out of the way, giving the people behind him a chance to check their reservation.
Settling onto a leather cushion, he stretched his legs