A Billionaire for Christmas Read online

  What if Phoebe didn’t like his home?

  She was silent as they pulled into the parking garage beneath his downtown high-rise building and slowed to a halt beside the kiosk. “Hey, Jerome,” he said, greeting the stoop-shouldered, balding man inside the booth with a smile. “This is where we get out, Phoebe.” He turned back to Jerome. “Do you mind asking one of the boys to unload the car and bring up our bags?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Cavallo. We’ll get them right up.”

  Leo took Phoebe’s elbow and steered her toward the elevator, where he used his special key to access and press the penthouse button. “Jerome’s a retired army sergeant. He runs this place with an iron fist.”

  Phoebe clutched her purse, her expression inscrutable. Because the video camera in this tiny space was recording everything they said, Leo refrained from personal chitchat. He preferred to keep his private life private.

  Upstairs, they stepped out into his private hallway. He generally took the recessed lighting and sophisticated decor for granted, but Phoebe looked around with interest. Once inside, he tossed his keys on a console table and held out a hand. “Would you like the tour?”

  * * *

  Phoebe felt like Alice in Wonderland. To go from her comfortable though modest cabin to this level of luxury was the equivalent of situational whiplash. She had realized on an intellectual level that Leo must be wealthy. Though she hadn’t known him personally before he arrived on her doorstep, she was well aware of the Cavallo empire and the pricey goods it offered to high-end consumers. But somehow, she hadn’t fully understood how rich Leo really was.

  The floors of his penthouse condo, acres of them it seemed, were laid in cream-colored marble veined with gold. Expensive Oriental rugs in hues of cinnamon and deep azure bought warmth and color to what might otherwise have been too sterile a decorating scheme.

  Incredible artwork graced the walls. Some of the paintings, to Phoebe’s inexperience gaze, appeared to be priceless originals. Two walls of the main living area were made entirely of glass, affording an unparalleled view of Atlanta as far as the eye could see. Everything from the gold leaf–covered dome of the Capitol building to the unmistakable outline of Stone Mountain in the far distance.

  A variety of formal armchairs and sofas were upholstered in either pale gold velvet or ecru leather. Crimson and navy pillows beckoned visitors to sit and relax. Overhead, a massive modern chandelier splayed light to all corners of the room.

  Undoubtedly, all of the fabrics were of Italian Cavallo design. Phoebe, who had always adored vivid color and strong statements in decor, fell in love with Leo’s home immediately. She turned in a circle. “I’m speechless. Should I take off my shoes?”

  He stepped behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Pushing aside her hair, left loose for a change, he kissed her neck just below her ear. “It’s meant to be lived in. May I say how glad I am that you’re here?”

  She turned to face him, wondering if she really knew him at all. At her old job, she had earned a comfortable living. But in comparison to all this, she was a pauper. How did Leo know she was not interested in him for his money? Unwilling to disclose her unsettling thoughts, she linked her arms around his neck. “Thank you for inviting me.” She tugged at his bottom lip with the pad of her thumb. “Surely there are bedrooms I should see.”

  His eyes darkened. “I didn’t want to rush you.”

  Her hand brushed the front of his trousers. “I’ve noticed this fellow hanging around all day.”

  The feel of her slim fingers, even through the fabric of his pants, affected him like an electric shock. “Seems to be a permanent condition around you.”

  “Then I suppose it’s only fair if I offer some…um…”

  His grin was a wicked flash of white teeth. “While you’re thinking of the appropriate word, my sweet,” Leo said, scooping her into his arms, “I could show you my etchings.”

  She tweaked his chin. “Not in here, I presume?”

  “Down the hall.” He held her close to his chest, his muscular arms bearing her weight as if she were no more than a child.

  Being treated like Scarlett O’Hara seemed entirely appropriate here in the Peach State. Leo’s power and strength seduced her almost as much as the memory of last night’s erotic play. “The sofa is closer,” she whispered, noting the shadow of his stubble and the way his golden-skinned throat moved when he spoke huskily.

  He nodded his head, hunger darkening his eyes. “I like the way you think.” He kissed her cheek as he strode across the room.

  “No one knows you’re home, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “And there’s no one else on this floor?”

  He shook his head, lowering her onto the soft cushions. “No.”

  “So I can be as loud as I like?”

  He stared at her in shock as her outrageous taunt sank in. “Good God Almighty.” Color crept from his throat to his hairline. “I thought you were a sweet young thing when I first met you. But apparently I was wrong.”

  “Never judge a book by its cover, Mr. Cavallo.” She ripped her sweater off over her head. “Please tell me you have some more of those packets.”

  Leo seemed fixated on the sight of her lace-covered breasts, but he recovered. “Damn it.” His expression leaned toward desperation.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “All of our luggage is downstairs.”

  “Your bathroom. Here?”

  “Well, yes, but somebody will be coming up that elevator any moment now.”

  “Leo…” she wailed, not willing to wait another second. “Call them back. Tell them we’re in the shower.”

  “Both of us?” He glanced at the door and back at her, frustration a living, breathing presence between them. An impressive erection tented his slacks. “It won’t be long. Fifteen minutes tops.”

  The way she felt at the moment, five minutes was too long. She wanted Leo. Now.

  Fortunately for both of them, a quiet chime sounded, presumably a doorbell, though it sounded more like a heavenly harp. Leo headed for the entrance and stared back at her. “You planning on staying like that?”

  Her jaw dropped. She was half naked and the doorknob was turning in Leo’s hand. With a squeak, she clutched her sweater to her breasts and ran around the nearest wall, which happened to conceal the kitchen. Not even bothering to envy the fabulous marble countertops and fancy appliances, she listened with bated breath as Leo conversed with the bellman. At long last, she heard the door close, and the sound of footsteps.

  As she hovered amidst gourmet cookware and the scent of unseen spices, Leo appeared. “He’s gone.” In his hand he held a stack of condoms. “Is this what you wanted?”

  Eighteen

  Leo had never particularly considered his kitchen to be a sexy place. In truth, he spent little time here. But with Phoebe loitering half naked, like a nymph who had lost her way, he suddenly began to see about a zillion possibilities.

  He leaned a hip against the counter. “Take off the rest of your clothes.” Would she follow his lead, or had he come on too strong?

  When perfect white teeth mutilated her bottom lip, he couldn’t decide if she was intending to drive him crazy by delaying or if she was perhaps now a bit shy. Without responding verbally, she tugged off her knee-length boots and removed her trim black slacks. The only article of clothing that remained, her tiny panties, was a perfect match to her blush-pink bra.

  “The floor is cold,” she complained as she kicked aside the better part of her wardrobe.

  His hands clenched the edge of the counter behind him. Lord, she was a handful. And gorgeous to boot. “You’re not done,” he said with far more dispassion than he felt.

  Phoebe thrust out her bottom lip and straightened her shoulders. “I don’t know why you have to b
e so bossy.”

  “Because you like it.” He could see the excitement building in her wide-eyed stare as she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. It fell to the floor like a wispy pink cloud. Though she hesitated for a brief moment, she continued disrobing, stepping out of her small undies with all the grace of a seasoned stripper.

  She twirled the panties on the end of her finger. “Come and get me.”

  He literally saw red. His vision hazed and he felt every molecule of moisture leach from his mouth. Quickly, with razor-sharp concentration that belied the painful ache in his groin, he assessed the possibilities. Beside the refrigerator, some genius architect had thought to install a desk that matched the rest of the kitchen. The marble top was the perfect height for what Leo had in mind.

  Forget the sofa or the bedroom or any other damned part of his house. He was going to take her here.

  He could barely look at Phoebe without coming apart at the seams. Young and strong and healthy, she was the epitome of womanhood. Her dark hair fell over one shoulder, partially veiling one raspberry nipple. “You’re beautiful, Phoebe.”

  The raw sincerity in his strained voice must have told her that the time for games was over. Surprised pleasure warmed her eyes. “I’m glad you think so.” She licked her lips. “Do you plan on staying over there forever?”

  “I don’t know,” he said in all seriousness. “The way I feel at the moment, I’m afraid I’ll take you like a madman.”

  Her lips curved. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “You tell me.” Galvanized at last into action by a yearning that could no longer be denied, he picked her up by the waist and sat her on the desk. Phoebe yelped when the cold surface made contact with her bottom, but she exhaled on a long, deep sigh as the sensation subsided.

  He ripped at his zipper and freed his sex. He was as hard as the marble that surrounded them, but far hotter. Sheathing himself with fumbling hands, he stepped between her legs. “Prop your feet on the desk, honey.”

  Phoebe’s cooperation was instant, though her eyes rounded when she realized what he was about to do.

  He positioned himself at the opening of her moist pink sex and shoved, one strong thrust that took him all the way. He held her bottom for leverage and moved slowly in and out. Phoebe’s arms linked around his neck in a stranglehold. Her feet lost their purchase and instead, she linked her ankles behind his waist.

  It would be embarrassing if she realized that his legs were trembling and his heart was doing weird flips and flops that had nothing to do with his recent health event. Phoebe made him forget everything he thought was important and forced him to concentrate on the two of them. Not from any devious machinations on her part, but because she was so damned cute and fun.

  Even as he moved inside her, he was already wondering where they could make love next. Heat built in his groin, a monstrous, unstoppable force. “I’m gonna come,” he groaned.

  She had barely made a sound. In sudden dismay, he leaned back so he could see her face. “Talk to me, Phoebe.” Reaching down, he rubbed gently at the swollen nub he’d been grazing again and again with the base of his sex. When his fingers made one last pass, Phoebe arched her back and cried out as she climaxed. Inside, her body squeezed him with flutters that threatened to take off the top of his head because the feeling was so intense.

  With his muscles clenched from head to toe, he held back his own release so he could relish every moment of her shuddering finale. As she slumped limp in his embrace, he cursed and thrust wildly, emptying himself until he was wrung dry. With one last forceful thrust, he finished, but as he did, his forehead met the edge of the cabinet over Phoebe’s head with enough force to make him stagger backward.

  “Hell…” His reverse momentum was halted by the large island in the center of the kitchen. He leaned there, dazed.

  Phoebe slid to her feet. “Oh, Leo. You’re bleeding.” Her face turned red, and she burst out laughing. Mortification and remorse filled her eyes in addition to concern, but she apparently couldn’t control her mirth, despite the fact that he had been injured in battle.

  Okay. So it was a little funny. His lips quirking, he put a hand to his forehead and winced when it came away streaked in red. “Would you please put some clothes on?” he said, trying not to notice the way her breasts bounced nicely when she laughed.

  Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Take them off. Put them on. You’re never satisfied.”

  He looked down at his erection that was already preparing for duty. “Apparently not.” When she bent over to step into her underwear and pants, it was all he could do not to take her again.

  Only the throbbing in his head held him back. When she was decent, he grimaced. “We’re going to a party tomorrow night. How am I going to explain this?”

  Phoebe took his hand and led him toward the bedrooms. “Which one is yours?” she asked. When he pointed, she kept walking, all the way to his hedonistic bathroom. “We’ll put some antibiotic ointment on it between now and then. Plus, there’s always makeup.”

  “Great. Just great.”

  She opened the drawer he indicated and gathered the needed supplies. “Sit on the stool.”

  He zipped himself back into his trousers, more to avoid temptation than from any real desire to be dressed. “Is this going to hurt?”

  “Probably.”

  The truth was the truth. When she moistened a cotton ball with antiseptic and dabbed at the cut, it stung like fire. He glanced in the mirror. The gash, more of a deep scrape really, was about two inches long. And dead in the center of his forehead. Now, every time he saw his reflection for the next week or so, all he would remember was debauching Phoebe in his kitchen.

  She smeared a line of medicated cream along the wound and tried covering it with two vertical Band-Aids. Now he looked like Frankenstein.

  Their eyes met in the large mahogany-framed mirror. Phoebe put a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled. But she was shaking all over, and he wasn’t fooled. Her mirth spilled out in wet eyes and muffled giggles.

  “Thank God you didn’t go into nursing,” he groused. He stood up and reached for a glass of water to down some ibuprofen. “Are you hungry, by any chance?” The kitchen episode had left him famished. Maybe it was the subliminal message in his surroundings.

  Phoebe wiped her eyes and nodded. “That picnic food was a long time ago.”

  “In that case, let me show you to your room and you can do whatever you need to do to get ready. The place I want to take you is intimate, but fairly casual. You don’t really have to change if you don’t want to. But I’ll drag your three dozen suitcases in there to be on the safe side.”

  * * *

  Phoebe wasn’t sure what to think about the opulent suite that was apparently hers for the duration of her visit. It was amazing, of course. Yards of white carpet. French country furniture in distressed white wood. A heavy cotton bedspread that had been hand embroidered with every wildflower in the world. And a bathroom that rivaled Leo’s. But in truth, she had thought she would be sleeping with him.

  Nevertheless, when Leo disappeared, she wasted no time in getting ready. She took a quick shower, though she made sure to keep her hair dry. It had grown dramatically in three years, far longer than she had ever worn it. Once wet, it was a pain to dry. She brushed it quickly and bound it loosely at the back of her neck with a silver clasp.

  Given Leo’s description of their destination, she chose black tights and black flats topped with a flirty black skirt trimmed at the hem in three narrow layers of multicolored chiffon. With a hot-pink silk chemise and a waist-length black sweater, she looked nice, but not too over-the-top.

  She had forgotten how much fun it was to dress up for a date. Fastening a silver chain around her neck, she fingered the charm that dangled from it. The letter P was engraved on the silver disc in fancy
cursive script. Her mother’s name had started with the same letter as Phoebe’s. And Phoebe had decided that if her baby was a girl, she wanted to name her Polly. An old-fashioned name maybe, but one she loved.

  It was hard to imagine ever being pregnant again. Would she be terrified the entire nine months? The doctor had insisted there was no reason her next pregnancy shouldn’t be perfectly normal. But it would be hard, so hard, not to worry.

  Pregnancy was a moot point now. There was no man in her life other than Leo. And the two of them had known each other for no time at all. Even if the relationship were serious—which it definitely was not—Leo wasn’t interested in having kids. It hadn’t been difficult to pick up on that.

  He clearly loved his niece and nephew, and he had been great with Teddy. But he was not the kind of guy to settle for home and hearth. Running the Cavallo conglomerate required most of his devotion. He loved it. Was proud of it. And at the level of responsibility he carried, having any substantive personal life would be tricky.

  His brother, Luc, seemed to have mastered the art of balance, from what Leo had said. But maybe Luc wasn’t quite as single-mindedly driven as his intense brother.

  When she was content with her appearance, she returned to the living room. Leo was standing in front of the expanse of glass, his hands clasped behind his back. He turned when he heard her footsteps. “That was quick.”

  He looked her over from head to toe. “I’ll be the envy of every guy in the restaurant.”

  She smiled, crossing the room to him and lightly touching his forehead. “You okay?”

  “A little headache, but I’ll live. Are you ready?”

  She nodded. “Perhaps we should stop by a pharmacy and grab some tiny Band-Aids so you don’t scare children.”

  “Smart-ass.” He put an arm around her waist and steered her toward the door.

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I….”

  Nineteen

  After a quick stop for medical supplies, they arrived at a small bistro tucked away in the heart of downtown Atlanta. The maître d’ recognized Leo and escorted them to a quiet table in the corner. “Mr. Cavallo,” he said. “So glad to see you are well.”