Page 43 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Dinner is on its way. I hope you like seafood.”

“Like I said, I’m not picky.” She patted her hips. “Unfortunately.”

“You won’t hear me complaining. A man needs something to grab on to.”

With those playful parting words, he retreated into the bathroom. Thirty minutes later, he was in a matching white waffle robe, seated across from Zoe as she inhaled pepperoncini and marinated mushrooms at the speed of light.

It was refreshing to see a woman who wasn’t afraid to enjoy food. Most women seemed intimidated eating in front of him, either because they wanted him to think they subsisted on nothing but raw vegetables or because he was the owner of a successful chain of restaurants and a bona fide foodie, he wasn’t sure.

“Oh. My. God,” she managed between bites. “I think I’m in heaven. Tell me the main course is this good.”

“Even better.” He stabbed a piece of prosciutto with his fork. “If you like this, you should taste my brother’s fresh burrata with honey-balsamic figs and roasted pistachios.”

“You have a brother?”

“A twin,” he said, surprised at his sudden willingness to discuss his personal life with her. Surprised, but not stopping. He wasn’t sure whether to blame the wine or the way she gazed at him across the table, with openness and an unconcealed interest he found irresistible. “Luca. Fraternal, in answer to your next question. I’m the better-looking one, but his skills in the kitchen are far superior to mine.”

“I doubt that.” Her eyes danced with amusement as she picked up her wine and sipped. “I’ve tasted your biscotti.”

“I dabble. My brother is the professional.”

“He’s a chef?”

“Yes.” Dante plucked the wine bottle from the silver-plated cooler in the stand next to him, refilling her glass, then his. “We have restaurants in Florence, Naples, and Rome.”

“We?”

She sucked an olive into her mouth. The unintentionally erotic gesture was a spark to his already overactive sex drive. Was she trying to kill him?

He tossed back his wine like it was Perrier and poured himself another. “Luca is the creative genius. I handle the business end of things.”

“Business is creative, too. It’s not all facts and figures. You have to constantly innovate to stay ahead of the competition.”

She crossed her legs, flashing him a sliver of creamy thigh, and he asked himself for the millionth time why he was resisting her. This time, however, with her fresh from the shower and barely dressed, against the backdrop of the red-gold setting sun and the crystal blue Mediterranean, he couldn’t come up with one good reason. They were two consenting adults, on what could—or should—be a romantic island getaway. He’d be a goddamn fool to pass up this chance.

And if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a fool.

…

Fancy food? Check. Fine wine? Check. Moonlight, music, and a man who was staring at her across the table like she was his next course? Check, check, and double check. It all added up to the most romantic night Zoe had spent in—well, ever.

If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Dante was trying to seduce her.

“Are you enjoying your dessert?” he asked in a flirtatious bedroom whisper, his eyes never leaving her face.

She let out a nervous little laugh, not used to be being the object of such intense, sensual scrutiny. “Is that a serious question? The answer is always yes. I’ve never met a dessert I didn’t like.”

“So you have a sweet tooth?”

“Oh yeah.” She scraped the side of her ramekin with her spoon, trying to scoop up every last bite ofpanna cotta. “More like a sweet mouth.”

Wait. That didn’t sound right.

Dante’s gray eyes darkened to a sexy, stormy charcoal. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s not just one tooth that wants sugar. It’s like every tooth. My whole mouth. I’m a certified sugar-holic.” Great. Now she was babbling.Really sexy, Zoe.Even her seventeen-year-old sister was better at this stuff.

Time for a change of subject.