Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

V alerio

One hot mama.

Since when had I ever used that phrase, but Miss Cupcake was that and more. In trying to keep my cool and failing, I'd likely embarrassed her, but she'd taken my atrocious behavior in stride. I could only imagine the news if a nasty reporter had just happened to be in the vicinity, catching the billionaire mogul fondling a goddamn cupcake.

But it had tasted sinfully good.

Which prompted me to wonder if my little mysterious baker tasted even better.

Perhaps I would indulge myself before our time spent together was concluded. Was it risky given I knew almost nothing about her?

Yes, but in life, there were certain risks worth taking.

I had no idea what had prompted me to text her after the horrible time spent with my dad other than I'd been pissed. We'd bantered. I'd enjoyed it. We'd gotten more sexual. I'd opened another bottle of scotch. Our conversation had turned even more intimate. I'd become the horniest man alive, jacking off while staring at her hot leg. Then I'd had the nerve to send her a picture of my chest.

Well, I guess it was better than the assholes who sent dick shots.

Here we were, placing the remaining items from the bake sale into the trunk of my Italian sportscar.

"Are you sure about this?" Cupcake asked. "I just live a couple buildings down."

Ouch. She lived in a shitty area, which told me she was like a struggling artist. "Nonsense. I'll be happy to bring you home after our drink."

She pressed her hands down on her jeans and sighed. "It can't be a fancy place." When she lifted one leg, I couldn't help but notice her Converse tennis shoes were purple. So was her top. "Cause I won't pass the dress code."

I chuckled and wanted to tell her there wasn't a restaurant or bar in the city who'd block entrance because of my date's attire, but I thought it too… pretentious of me. Imagine that. Finding my potential behavior pretentious. Something else new.

"Have no fear, cupcake girl. Nothing fancy. Just fun. Hop in."

She eyed the car again, shaking her head. "What are you, a millionaire?"

Bragging wasn't in my best interest either. "A hand-me-down from my father."

It wasn't a complete lie since he'd bought the Maserati as a present one Christmas. Matching expensive vehicles for all three brothers, just in different colors. Oh, Dad, you shouldn't have.

"Oh. Wouldn't I like to be adopted into your family."

I hit the key fob unlocking the doors, thinking about closing hers as any gentleman would do. First, I was no gentleman. No one had ever called me that. Second, I had a feeling she would balk at my gesture or worse.

After starting the engine, I glanced over, somehow unable to keep my eyes off her. "So, Cupcake. Do you think it's time to exchange names?"

She gave me a coy look. "And ruin the mystery? Why do that?"

"Mmm… Good point. So, Cupcake and the Lone Ranger it is."

"The name suits you anyway."

"How is that?"

She dared to drag the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip. Did the girl not understand I was a man? I hungered? I took what I wanted?

I fisted the steering wheel instead of yanking her onto my lap, which would be a completely irresponsible reaction.

But one I'd thoroughly enjoy.

"So, what do you do, Italian sports car driver?"

She made me smile like no other woman had in a very long time. "I'm a professional boxer." Why not add to the mystery?

I barely had to glance in her direction to realize she wasn't buying it. That was easy to tell by her scrunched-up nose.

"Not buying it in the least," she said with a cute little lilt in her voice.

"Why is that?"

"Well, your watch likely cost over one hundred thousand dollars for one thing. Not that a boxer couldn't afford expensive jewelry but usually they spend money on gold chains and maybe gold teeth since they likely need to have several replaced over the course of their career."

"A harsh stereotype."

"Yeah, well, I dated a boxer once. He was extremely stereotypical including having way too much testosterone for anyone to deal with."

"Did he hurt you?" I had a completely possessive tone in my voice.

"Don't worry," she mused. "I'm a little fighter. One attempted punch and I almost broke his hand after issuing a solid punch of my own. He got the message clear enough. Ran out crying like a baby."

"You're kidding?" She was maybe one hundred twenty pounds soaking wet.

"Nope. I'm tougher than I look."

"I guess so." I was fighting the ache between my legs even more than before. The woman was entirely different than I was used to being around. She had a spark in her step and a sparkle in her eye.

Great. Now I was noticing women who sparkled?

I shifted gears, able to push it into fourth and I could tell she was thoroughly enjoying the ride.

We both remained quiet until I zoomed into the parking lot of one of my favorite Mexican restaurants. It was right on the water, a colorful location for locals and tourists alike, and somewhere I could enjoy the ocean, the festive atmosphere, and appearing like a beach bum if I wanted.

One reason I'd shucked my suit in place of the outfit I'd wanted to wear for my illustrious lunch with dear old Dad.

When I pressed on the brakes with a lead foot, she laughed softly. "Is that the way you try and impress a girl, driving like a maniac?"

"Was I doing that?" I asked as I unfastened the seatbelt.

"You were. But I'll let you in on a little secret. I kind of liked it." She threw open the passenger door and was standing on the pavement before I could climb out. She had her eyes shielded from the sun, her smile positively infectious. "I've heard of this place."

"You've never been here?"

"Nope. I don't get out much."

"What a shame. Come on. Let me introduce you to the finest top shelf margarita in all of San Diego."

"I accept. A favorite of mine."

As soon as we walked inside, the hostess knowing me well almost spouted off my name as she always did with her lovely greeting. I shook my head, placing my finger across my lips because, of course, Cupcake would notice.

"Right this way, se?or ," the girl said, giving Cupcake a onceover before leading us to my favorite outside table on the second-floor patio, the one with the best view of the ocean in all of San Diego.

As soon as Cupcake sat down, she took a deep breath, studying the ocean as if she'd never seen it before. I couldn't have created a more perfect backdrop with the setting sun, vivid colors splashing across the calm waters.

"Breathtaking," she whispered in a sultry voice that drew me to studying her facial expressions.

"I completely agree."

As soon as she realized I was staring at her, she folded her arms across the table just as the waiter headed to our table.

" ?Su se?or habitual? " He was smiling as he asked the question if I wanted my usual.

" Que sean dos y hazle saber a Pedro que tengo un invitado especial ."

" Si, se?or ." The guy was grinning as he left the table, but not before giving her a hungry onceover.

My crazy possessiveness of her almost pushed a ravenous wolf to the surface.

She cocked her pretty little head. "And what were you saying?"

"I told him I wanted two of my usual but to let Pedro, their incredible bartender, know that I had a special guest."

"Now, why in the world do you consider me special? We've texted for a little over twenty-four hours, being a tiny bit naughty even for me, but you know almost nothing about me."

"Cupcake, anyone who can entice me into eating a baked good is pretty darn special."

A bowl of chips and two different sauces were placed in front of us. We both reached for a tortilla chip at the same time, our hands colliding, and I was rewarded with a laugh.

"So, you never told me what you believe I do for a living."

She took her time dipping a chip into the white sauce, toying with me by holding it in front of her until a few drips threatened to drop off. As she caught them with her tongue, I couldn't seem to move an inch. I knew she was toying with me on purpose, but I did deserve it after the way I'd chomped down on the luscious cupcake.

After chewing, she eyed me carefully, waiting until the waiter brought our drinks. When the young man and I carried on a slight conversation, including ordering a couple of appetizers, I couldn't help but notice she seemed amused all over again.

"You speak fluent Spanish. Any other languages I should know about?"

"I don't know about should, but given my family's heritage is in Sicily, I do speak Italian. And a hint of Russian."

"Russian? I didn't think you were a spy."

She had a way of making me laugh. "I assure you I'm not a spy. My brothers dared me to take the language in college. I lasted a semester and it wasn't my finest hour, also blemishing my stellar academic record."

"Fascinating."

"You have yet to answer my question."

She took another chip, chewing thoughtfully as she studied me more intently than I'd done with her. "I'd say you're considered a powerful businessman in some luxurious profession such as commercial real estate development or perhaps wealth management. Yes, that suits you as well."

"Nicely done. Maybe I should say guilty as charged. Wealth management, although I do own several pieces of real estate as well."

"Of course you do. Wealthy clients?"

"Very. So, you own a bakery?"

She snorted, almost blowing bubbles across the surface of her drink. "Not yet. One day but right now, I'm blown away by the cost of renting a facility that could work. It would take hundreds of thousands of dollars to do so, which of course I don't have, let alone the location has to be perfect with a store front in a quaint neighborhood where people enjoying shopping on foot can stop in for a quick treat. I'll get there. One way or another." She flitted her eyes in my direction and laughed. "And I'm boring you to tears."

"Not in the least. I adore those who completely immerse themselves in what they want, doing whatever it takes to fulfill their dream. Perhaps there's something I could do to help."

"I don't see how that's possible. Plus, I like doing things on my own."

"Admirable. Very few people get by without a handout."

"Handout? I've worked for everything I've obtained, including my shitty little apartment." She laughed and it seemed the entire patio glanced in our direction, the men wishing they could be me.

It was just another possessive moment that was difficult to ignore.

We chatted as we enjoyed the tangy concoctions, Pedro adding a little extra oomph to the drinks given my comment. One turned into two, both appetizers consumed and I found the conversation just as refreshing at the woman herself.

She didn't bug me with too many questions, content with enjoying our secretive game. When asked about her life, she volunteered very little, other to say she was meticulous in making choices in her life. I had to wonder whether she was making a passive-aggressive comment in passing.

Or on purpose to see how I would react.

As the sunlight faded, the ocean waves rolling in closer given the approaching tide, and the stars delighting the sky with twinkling illumination, I sensed she was uncertain what if anything our impromptu date had meant.

So I decided to take the bull by the horns.

Instead of by his cock. Maybe that would come later.

"One last question, Miss Cupcake. Do you like taking risks?"

"It depends on what we're talking about."

"Mmm… A little cozy adventure."

"Cozy?"

I laughed and pulled out my credit card. When she attempted to grab the bill from my hand, I offered a stern look. "Yes, very cozy and no woman in my company will ever be forced to pay for drinks or dinner."

"But we were only having drinks. As friends."

With her smile more beguiling than before, my control mechanisms seemed to be dropping quickly into the toilet.

"Friends or not, I am a powerful man. You said so yourself."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

"What risks are we talking about? Skydiving? Mountain climbing? Racecar driving?"

This time as I leaned over, I could sense her breath catching. "How about a little drive by the ocean?"

I was rewarded with another laugh. "You're on, Mr. Lone Ranger, as long as you don't keep me out too late."

"Deal." I'd spent an entire afternoon with her and was fascinated by the fact I was the one who was craving taking a risk.

Hell, if my jet was fired up and ready, I'd consider whisking her away to one of the islands for the night. Then I could introduce her to some really naughty things.

After paying the bill, I watched her walking away with her head held high. I tossed a few twenties on the table for the tip as my mind resorted to several filthy thoughts. I tried not to slide myself into the creep category by staring at her rounded ass and long legs, but anyone who was observing my actions could likely tell what I was thinking.

Thankfully, the lights were low, the sky a sweltering black and if they weren't looking directly into my eyes, they would have no idea I was undressing every inch of her luscious body with them.

Oh, I was a very bad man, my sinful thoughts likely landing me in hell.

But in my mind, the consequences would be worth the wild ride.

To say I was one lucky bastard was an understatement.