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“Really? What are you? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?”
Carrie laughed. “Aren’t you good for my ego. I’m twenty-eight.”
“I’ve never met a woman past the age of eighteen who hasn’t been in at least one serious relationship.”
“Which you clearly find fascinating,” she said, looking amused.
“I do.” In more ways than just that. She was like the perfect woman. Sexy, desirable, with a decent sense of humor and completely uninterested in a relationship. Had he hit the jackpot or what?
“How about you?” Carrie asked. “Ever been in a serious relationship?”
“Engaged, but that was a long time ago. Back in college.”
“What happened?”
“You could say that we wanted different things.”
“What did you want?”
He shrugged. “Marriage, kids, the usual stuff.”
“What did she want?”
“My roommate, Evan.”
She winced. “Ouch.”
“Better I found out what she was like before we were married than after. At that point I decided to focus on my career.”
“So you’re married to your job?”
“More or less.”
“It’s not unusual for me to work fourteen-hour days, so I totally get that.”
She would be the first woman who ever did. And he found himself wishing she were staying in Chicago longer than a few days. She was someone he wouldn’t mind getting to know better.
After talking for a few minutes more, and some serious flirting, they had both drained their glasses, so he hailed a waitress for two more drinks. There was more talking, more flirting—but mostly flirting—then Carrie had a third drink, and by then it was nearly midnight. At one minute till, the music stopped, and everyone focused on the big-screen television over the bar to watch the ball drop.
“So,” Carrie said, “because neither of us has anyone to kiss…”
“I was told that it’s un-American to start the New Year off without a kiss,” he said.
“I guess that doesn’t leave us much choice, then.”
With a grin, he held out his hand and she took it. She slid down off the stool, and didn’t show a bit of resistance as he tugged her closer. He should have been watching the ball drop, but he couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from her face. Standing this close he would have expected to see at least an imperfection or two, but her skin was flawless, her eyes such a clear gray they appeared bottomless. His eyes dropped to her mouth, to lips that looked full and soft and kissable.
Only an hour ago he had been dreading the arrival of the New Year, now he could hardly wait for those last thirty seconds to pass. Then it was twenty seconds, and when it reached ten, everyone in the bar started to count. Except for him and Carrie. Their eyes locked, and they stood so close now that her warm breath feathered against his lips. They waited in anticipation. Five…four…three…two…
Unable to wait another second, he slanted his mouth over hers and the cheers and hoots, the shrill of noisemakers and the chorus of “Auld Lang Syne” being sung—it all faded into the background. Her lips parted under his. He heard her sigh as he sank his fingers through the silky ribbons of her hair, felt her melt against him when he pulled her closer. The softness of her lips, the sweet taste of her mouth, were more intoxicating than any drink. And he wanted her, knew he had to have her, even if it was for only one night.
He wasn’t sure how long they stood there kissing, their arms wrapped around one another, but when he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathless and Carrie’s cheeks were rosy and hot.
“At the risk of sounding too forward,” she said, “would you like to come up to my room?”
Of course he wanted to. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
That must have been the right answer, because she smiled and took his hand. “I am now. I figure, why not start the year with a bang?”
He grinned, squeezed her hand and said, “Let’s go.”
Two
Start the year off with a bang indeed, Carrie thought as the cab inched along in bumper-to-bumper traffic through the slushy streets of Chicago. Two days later and her neck still ached, there was a bruise on her shin where she had banged it on the headboard, and she had angry-looking rug burns on her knees, but it had been so worth it. She hadn’t been banged so well, or so many times in a row, in years. The man was insatiable, and gave as good as he got. Better even. And as she had imagined, he looked just as good out of his clothes as he did in them. She would even go so far as to say that it was the single most satisfying, fun and adventurous sexual experience of her life. Then he had to go and ruin it by skulking off in the middle of the night without even saying goodbye.
He hadn’t left his phone number, which she could have looked up if she had caught his last name. But all evidence pointed to his not wanting to be found. For all she knew, Ron wasn’t even his real name, and he had been sitting there alone looking for someone just like her, someone to bang in the New Year with. Maybe all he’d really wanted was cheap sex.
Oh, well. At least it had been really good cheap sex. And in her own defense, she’d hit the minibar in her room before she had even ventured downstairs and had been more than a little drunk. It was possible that he wasn’t even as good-looking as she thought. Or that great of a lover.
She wasn’t sure if that should make her feel better or worse.
She had been in Chicago barely forty-eight hours, and already she’d invited a strange man up to her room, had sex and had gotten dumped. That had to be some kind of world record.
But Ron—if that was really his name—wasn’t totally to blame. She did have the tendency to come on a little strong, and sometimes men took it the wrong way. Under normal circumstances she was outspoken. Get her a little tipsy and she had the tendency to say things she probably shouldn’t. According to her stepfather, her sassy mouth had been her biggest problem. And his cure for that had always been a solid crack across said mouth with the back of his hand.
She didn’t recall everything she and Ron had discussed that night, but she seemed to remember some of it being very personal in nature.
“This is it,” the cab driver said as the car rolled to a stop outside Caroselli Chocolate headquarters. As soon as the contracts were signed, and a timetable set, she would look for an apartment or condo to lease. There was nothing she hated more than living out of suitcases for extended periods of time.
She paid him, grabbed her briefcase, climbed out of the cab and walked to the revolving front door, the damp cold seeping through her coat, the heels of her pumps clicking against the slushy pavement. She pushed her way inside, into a lobby of glass, stainless steel and marble, and walked to the guard station, the alluring scent of chocolate drawing her gaze to the gift shop at the other end of the lobby.
“Caroline Taylor. I’m here for a meeting,” she told the guard.
“Good morning, Ms. Taylor. They’re expecting you.” He handed her a name badge that said “Guest,” which she clipped to the lapel of her suit jacket. “Take the elevator behind me up to the third floor and see the receptionist.”
“Thank you.” She walked to the elevator, back straight, head high. There was no lack of security cameras, and it was critical to make a good impression the second she walked in the door. Despite her reputation, and her impeccable record for getting the job done, some people, men of a certain era in particular, sometimes doubted her abilities. and this being a family business, she had no doubt that she would be working with several generations of Carosellis.
As she rode up to the third floor she shrugged out of her overcoat and draped it over her arm. When the doors slid open she stepped out of the elevator into another reception area. A young woman whose nameplate announced her as Sheila Price was seated behind a large desk, and beside her stood an attractive, older gentleman in a very expensive, exquisitely tailored suit. Considering his age, and the air of authority he exuded, she was guessing he was one of the three Caroselli brothers, the sons of Giuseppe who now ran the company.
She walked to the desk, nervous energy propelling her steps. She hadn’t planned to expand her business outside the West Coast area for another year or two, but Caroselli Chocolate was the largest and most prestigious company to approach her thus far, and when they called, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Of course, if she botched it up, it would decimate her reputation and probably destroy her career.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
“Welcome, Ms. Taylor,” the man said, stepping forward to greet her. “I’m Demitrio Caroselli.”
“It’s a pleasure,” she said, shaking his hand, a little surprised that the CEO himself was there to greet her.
“Can I take your coat?” Sheila asked.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, handing it over.
“Everyone is waiting for us in the conference room,” Demitrio said, gesturing down a long hallway lined with offices. “It’s this way.”
Being a private contractor, Carrie answered to no one, and being in such high demand, she walked into every meeting knowing she had the upper hand. That didn’t mean she wasn’t slightly nervous. But she seriously doubted they would have shelled out the expense of a first-class plane ticket and a five-star hotel if they weren’t seriously planning to sign the contract.
“Do you prefer Caroline or Ms. Taylor?” he asked.
“Caroline or Carrie,” she told him.
“We appreciate your coming to see us on such short notice,” he said. “And so close to the holidays.”
“I’m happy to be here.” The assignment back in L.A. that she was supposed to have started this week had been cancelled when the company went under last month; otherwise she wouldn’t have been available until much later this year.
“Is this your first visit to Chicago?”
“It is. From what I’ve seen it’s a beautiful city. The snow will take some getting used to, though.” The hall was silent and most of the offices they passed were dark. “Is it always this quiet?”
“We’re not technically back from the holiday break until next Monday,” he said. “The holiday season is a very busy time for us so we give everyone the first week of the year off.”
At the end of the hall he opened a door marked “Conference Room” and Carrie held her breath as they stepped inside. In front of a bank of windows that spanned the entire length of the room stood a strikingly beautiful young woman who looked more suited to a fashion runway than a company boardroom. On one side of a marble-topped table long enough to seat a dozen-plus people sat two dashing older men and opposite them, two younger men, who frankly buried the needle on the totally hot-and-sexy scale.
Well, damn, the Caroselli family sure did grow them tall dark and sexy.
She assumed one of them was Robert Caroselli, the man whose department she was there to analyze and pick apart. In her experience, that didn’t typically go over very well, and resulted in a certain degree of opposition. Especially when the person in charge was a man.
“Caroline,” Demitrio said, “these are my brothers Leo, our CFO, and Tony, our COO.”
The two older men rose to shake her hand. Tony was shorter and stockier in build. Leo was the tallest of the three and very fit for a man his age. Despite their physical differences, there was no mistaking the fact that they were related.
“Nice to meet you, gentlemen.”
“And this is my niece, Elana. She heads up our accounting division.”
Elana sauntered over to shake Carrie’s hand. Her firm grip was all business, her smile cool and sophisticated, but her dark eyes were warm and friendly. Carrie was fairly adept at reading people, and if she had to guess, she would say that Elana was incredibly intelligent, though underestimated at times because of her beauty.
“On this side we have my nephew, Nick,” Demitrio said. “He’s the genius behind our new projects.”
Nick, the one on the left, rose to shake her hand. He was charmingly attractive in a slightly rumpled I’m-sexy-and-rich-therefore-I-can-wear-a-wrinkled-shirt sort of way. The twinkle in his dark eyes, and slightly lopsided grin as he shook her hand said he was a flirt, while the wedding band on his left hand said he was very likely a harmless one.
“And last but not least,” Demitrio said, while Carrie braced herself, “this is Tony Jr., director of overseas production and sales.”
What about Robert?
Tony Jr. stood so tall that even in three-inch heels Carrie had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. His professional nod and distracted smile said that he had something other than the business at hand on his mind.
“Please have a seat,” Demitrio said, gesturing to the empty chair beside Nick. “We’re waiting for one more, then we can get started.”
She’d barely settled in her seat when behind her she heard the door open, and a deep voice say, “Sorry I’m late. My secretary isn’t back today, so I had to pick these reports up on my way in.”
Something about that voice made the hair on the back of her neck shiver to attention. She’d definitely heard it before. But where…
The breath she had just inhaled backed up in her lungs. Oh no, it couldn’t be.
She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye as he approached the table, his attention on the pile of folders he carried, and when she focused on his face…
She swiftly looked away, heart pounding. He had the same smoldering black eyes, the solid, square jaw, the full lips that had kissed her senseless. At first glance the resemblance was uncanny. But it couldn’t be him. Could it?
He mumbled an “excuse me” as he laid a folder in front of her. On his right hand was a college ring identical to the one she had seen the other night, and as the scent of his aftershave drifted her way, the wave of familiarity was so strong that her heart skipped a beat.
She stared at the folder cover, unable to focus. Hell, she could barely breathe.
It’s not him, she assured herself. It just looks like him, and smells like him, and sounds like him…and wears the same ring as him. But it had to be a coincidence, her mind playing tricks on her.
She had a strict rule of never sleeping with a coworker. Especially one she would be working with directly. And definitely not one whose work she would be putting under the microscope. She’d made that mistake once before, on her first high-profile job with a previous client. Previous because the affair had ended in disaster, the aftermath ugly.
It wasn’t necessary for the entire team to like her, but maintaining their respect was crucial. When she recalled the things she and Ron had said to one another, the things she let him do…the sheer mortification made her want to curl inside her own skin and hide, or slide down out of her chair under the table.
As he rounded the table she kept her eyes on the folder, pretending to read, afraid to lift her head. Maybe if it was Ron, he wouldn’t recognize her. They had both been pretty drunk.
“Rob,” Demitrio said, “this is Caroline Taylor. Caroline, this is my son Rob, our director of marketing.”
She had no choice but to look up, to meet his eyes, and when she did, her head spun and her heart sank.
Unless “Rob” had an identical twin, he was in fact Ron, her New Year’s bang.
Rob blinked, then blinked again. In the conservative suit that hid her pinup model figure, with her granny hairstyle, he almost didn’t recognize Carrie. But the slightly too-large clear gray eyes were a dead giveaway.
She sat frozen, watching him expectantly, and his first thought was that this had to be some sort of prank. Were Nick and Tony screwing with him? He’d bragged to them about the blonde beauty he’d spent the night with. Which his cousins knew was completely out of character for him. He didn’t do drunken one-night stands. Typically, he didn’t do drunken anything.
Was this some twisted practical joke? Had they gone to the hotel to look for her, maybe paid her to pose as Caroline Taylor to mess with Rob’s head?
He looked from Nick to Tony, waiting for someone to say something, for everyone at the table to burst out laughing. And when they didn’t, when they all watched him, looking increasingly puzzled by his lack of a response, he began to get a very bad feeling.
“Rob?” his dad said, brow creased with concern. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” he said, a bit too enthusiastically, and forcing a smile that felt molded from plastic, he told Ms. Taylor, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Not.
When he’d slipped out of her bed, he’d had no intention of ever seeing her again. Talk about dumb freaking luck.
Caroline nodded in his general direction, her head held a little too high, her shoulders too square and her back too straight, as if she’d been cut out of cardboard and propped up in the chair. She was clearly no happier to see him than he was to see her.
“Well, why don’t we get started,” his dad said, and everyone opened their folders. Rob tried to concentrate as they went over the contracts, and discussed Ms. Taylor’s credentials and her projected time line, but he found his mind—and his eyes—wandering to the woman across the table. She downplayed her looks for work, he assumed in an attempt to gain respect from men who might otherwise objectify her or see her as too pretty to be smart. But he knew what she was hiding under that shapeless suit. The siren’s figure and satin-soft skin. He knew the way her hair looked cascading down her bare back in silky ribbons, pale and buttery against her milky complexion, and how it brushed his chest as she straddled him. Even though parts of that night were a bit fuzzy, he knew he could never erase from his mind the image of her lying beneath him, wrapped in his arms, her breathy moans as he—
“Rob?” his dad said.
Rob jerked to attention. “Yeah, sorry.”
