Tempted and Taken, page 9
“Damn, I wish you hadn’t pointed that out because I’m not reducing it enough,” she chastised.
Matt acted as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ve arranged for a car to pick us up when we land and drive us to the hotel.”
The flight attendant returned from the bedroom. “Can I offer you anything to drink while we wait?”
Liza started to take her up on the offer, dying for a glass of wine, but Matt shook his head. “Not at the moment.”
The woman walked back to the front of the plane, disappearing from view.
“I could have gone for a glass of wine.” She was sort of annoyed that he’d spoken for both of them.
“And you can have some. Later.” Matt rose, offering her a hand to help her up as well. “First, I need you to come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
Matt kept hold of her hand, leading her down the wide aisle until they stood at what she assumed was the bedroom door. It was where the flight attendant had taken Matt’s luggage.
He was acting different today, more at ease, almost playful, if that was something he was capable of, and she wondered what had changed.
Maybe he felt more comfortable with her now that they’d established sex was off the table. Or maybe—God, she hated to think this—he was genuinely happy with Patricia, and she was hanging out with a man in love.
Ugh. That thought made her want to vomit.
Before she could come up with another, less puke-inducing idea, Matt opened the door and pulled her inside the bedroom.
Liza’s curiosity overrode the part of her brain screaming at her to turn around and go back to the main cabin of the plane. Because the last place she should be with Matt was a bedroom.
Instead, she surveyed the room, amazed by the sheer luxurious elegance. She didn’t know who Matt’s interior decorator was, but they had great taste.
“Wow,” Liza whispered, taking in the king-size bed with an ornate mahogany headboard, the matching nightstands and dresser, the soft lighting, and the large-screen TV hanging opposite the bed that was one of the kinds that looked like artwork when turned off. The bed was adorned with a fluffy white duvet and at least a half dozen deep blue throw pillows. “This room is incredible.”
“Glad you approve.” With a hand on her lower back, Matt moved her farther into the room, before stepping in front of her and pointing to her ripped jeans.
“Now… Take off your pants.”
Chapter Seven
The scowl Liza shot Matt amused him.
“Excuse me?” she asked haughtily.
Matt ignored her shocked outrage as he crossed to the bathroom, where he wet a washcloth with warm water before reaching beneath the sink to grab the first aid kit.
Liza was still standing next to the bed—in her jeans—when he returned, her hands on her hips. “Listen, Matt—” she started, but he cut her off.
“Your jeans are still on, Liza,” he said impatiently. From her flushed cheeks, he knew exactly how she was interpreting his request. Clearly, she hadn’t seen the kit in his hands, or if she had, she hadn’t managed to register his intent.
“And they’re staying that way. While I appreciate you offering to help me get to Hawaii, there’s no way—”
Matt held up the first aid kit. “Your knee is dirty. I can see bits of gravel in it from here. We need to clean it before it gets infected.”
“Oh.” She quickly shut her mouth, flushing slightly now that she realized he wasn’t propositioning her.
Or at least, he let her think he wasn’t.
She held out her hands for the kit and washcloth. “I can clean it.”
Matt held them away from her. “You had plenty of opportunities to do this yourself and you failed to take any of them. So now, I’m doing it.”
He’d been annoyed at the Initiative offices when she’d explained her injury. He’d nearly lost his shit at the thought of her changing a tire on the side of the highway. She could have been struck by a car, could have been killed. Then she’d ignored her injured knee, bypassing God only knew how many restrooms at the airport. And while he understood she’d been trying to catch a flight initially, that didn’t account for the ones she’d passed on the way out of the airport after she’d missed it.
Liza hadn’t done a very good job taking care of herself today, so he was taking over.
“Matt,” she said again, this time quieter, perhaps a bit uncertain.
“There’s no need to be shy. There’s nothing under those jeans I haven’t seen before. Up close and personal.”
His words struck the way he expected, Liza’s temper flaring. He didn’t have a clue what it said about him but seeing her outraged like this had his dick growing hard. Those brown eyes of hers—flashing fire—were a serious turn-on.
“And there’s nothing under these jeans you’ll ever see again,” she insisted, her voice loud. “We’re going for professionalism, remember?”
He fought not to grin as she threw that back in his face. She obviously didn’t like the way they’d ended things last time. Good. That would only make it easier for him when he told her that ship had sailed.
Matt placed the washcloth and first aid kit on the dresser, stepping in front of her. “You can take them off yourself, or I can do it for you. Choose. Now.”
Her anger wavered in the face of his threat…just as he expected. Because he had come to learn there was a hierarchy when it came to Liza’s emotions. Anger fell just a little lower on the list…right under her desire to submit.
Matt spent the past three weeks considering this trip to Hawaii and how he planned to change the rules. He’d allowed himself to get mired in dark thoughts in the month following the Snowflake Gala, and it had left him acting out of character, forgetting who he was at heart. He’d let his grip slip, convincing himself that the best way forward was to keep Liza out of the picture.
That had been a fool’s errand because his attraction to her had burrowed deep under his skin.
So it was time to revert back to the man he was deep down inside. In all things, business and personal, Matt was always in control.
He was a Russo, for God’s sake. He’d been raised to take what he wanted and offer no apologies for it.
He wasn’t the type of man who denied himself pleasure. Why would he? He could afford the best—private jets, luxurious suites, expensive wine and food—so denying himself Liza had gone against every single instinct he possessed.
The second he’d realized that, his eyes had been opened, and he’d decided that he didn’t have to push Liza away. He just had to control the situation. Set parameters. Find a way to make sure they kept emotions out of it.
“Liza.” He reached out, intent on ripping the dirty denim off her with his bare hands.
“Fine,” Liza replied hastily, through gritted teeth, as she put a few feet between them. She backed up toward the bed and unfastened her jeans. The confidence she’d revealed the night of the gala returned full force as she kept her chin up, toeing off her flats, then taking off her jeans.
Matt didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t looking.
She smirked.
“Take a good long look because this is the last time you’re going to see this particular view.”
He was tempted to fuck that snarky tone right out of her—with his dick in her mouth.
She wore a T-shirt with a thick cardigan on top. The cardigan did a good job. Too good. Covering her from mid-thigh and up. He considered telling her to lose the sweater too, but they weren’t there yet. He needed to lay his cards on the table. If he was lucky, she’d go along with his ground rules. If he wasn’t, he’d seduce the hell out of her until she agreed.
Matt gestured toward the mattress, inviting her to sit down. He didn’t miss the slight wince when she bent her injured knee, and his temper piqued again.
“You were reckless today.”
She rolled her eyes. “I changed a tire and scraped my knee. I’m really living life on the edge.”
Matt held his tongue. If she were his, he'd have a hell of a lot more to say about her changing a tire on the side of a busy highway. And he wouldn't just say it. He'd back his opinion up with a spanking that would remind her to take care with what belonged to him.
Fuck. Matt pushed that thought away because she wasn't his. Couldn't be his. Not truly.
Grabbing the first aid kit and washcloth, he knelt on the floor in front of her. Her soft intake of breath told him she was recalling the same thing he was. How he’d knelt in front of her the night of the gala, lifted one knee—the now-injured one—over his shoulder and driven her to her first orgasm with his tongue.
Neither of them spoke as he gently cleaned the cut, blowing on it to alleviate any sting. Then he put antibiotic cream on a large Band-Aid and covered the scrape. Leaning back on his haunches, he looked up, wondering at the amusement tugging at the tips of her lips.
“No kiss to make it better?” she teased.
She was good at issuing dares he couldn’t resist. Matt leaned forward to give her knee a soft kiss.
Liza jerked in surprise, not expecting him to take her up on her offer. He’d seen that same shock in her eyes when he’d responded to her comment about him overcompensating in the SUV.
“Thanks,” she said, her brows lowered in confusion. She was struggling to keep up, which made sense. After all, the last time they talked, he’d made that dumbass comment about keeping their relationship professional. He’d also allowed her to continue to believe he was dating Patricia. His actions today were in direct opposition to all of that.
“You’re welcome.”
Time to pull back on the flirting until they had time to discuss where the two of them were going from here.
Liza reached down to retrieve her jeans from the floor, but he picked them up before she could, tossing them onto a chair in the corner of the room.
“Stay there,” he said, rising and walking over to the dresser. “I keep sleepwear on the plane.” Opening the drawer, he pulled out a pair of lounge pants. “These might be a bit big, but they have a drawstring, so you should be able to keep them up with no problem.”
He handed the pants to Liza, who thanked him. While she put the lounge pants on, Matt opened his suitcase, pulling out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. “Give me a moment to change into something more comfortable and then we can go back to the main cabin. We should be taking off very soon.”
He changed in the bathroom, and when he stepped back into the bedroom, he discovered Liza already gone, so he returned to the main cabin, claiming the seat opposite her once more. She’d managed to snag her glass of wine. Matt requested the same, each of them sipping their merlot.
The flight attendant informed them they were about to take off. Buckling their seat belts, they gazed out the window as the jet taxied to the runway. Silence had fallen between them, but it wasn’t awkward. He’d spent too many evenings with women who felt as if they had to fill every moment with conversation, Patricia the worst offender of them all. Liza was the first woman he’d ever spent time with who appreciated the value of quiet companionship.
Once they reached their cruising altitude, the flight attendant refilled their wine glasses, then prepared the cabin for dinner. Liza watched the setup with interest—and a bit of awe—grinning at the ostentatiousness of it all.
“A tablecloth and real crystal goblets?” she murmured softly when the attendant returned to the kitchen area.
Matt smirked but said nothing in reply.
Once the table was set, they moved across the aisle to claim their seats, carrying their wine glasses with them. Placing napkins on their laps, they both thanked the flight attendant as she served the salad course.
“Can I ask you something?” Liza started.
“Of course.”
“Why isn’t Patricia your date for the wedding?”
That hadn’t taken long. He’d intended to bring up the subject himself because he couldn’t move forward with his plans for Liza as long as she believed he was dating the other woman.
“Contrary to what the tabloids say, Patricia and I are no longer dating. You know that, because you saw me break things off in the lobby of the Ritz.”
“Yet you were out with her the next night. You gave her the diamond tennis bracelet.”
“A parting gift. Nothing more. I do a lot of business with her father. I thought it best to clear the air between us so that my association with Richard Eddington wasn’t awkward.”
Liza wasn’t convinced. “Why was she in your office if you were still broken up?”
“Patricia is of the opinion that the two of us should get married.” Matt decided full disclosure was in his best interest when it came to Liza.
“She’s in love with you?”
Of course that was where Liza’s thoughts would go. In the world the Morettis inhabited, two things were certain—and it wasn’t Benjamin Franklin’s death and taxes. It was love and marriage.
“Not at all,” he said.
Liza frowned. “I don’t understand. Why marry someone you don’t love?”
“I should think that would be obvious. Money.”
Liza snorted—until she realized he was serious. “Because the two of you don’t have enough already?”
“People like Patricia will never have enough.”
“What about you?” Liza asked.
“I have plenty.”
“So you’re not going to marry her?”
Matt shook his head, grateful for this opening. If they were going to continue forward in the manner Matt hoped, Liza needed to understand one very vital thing about him. “No. I’m not marrying her. I’m not marrying anyone. Ever,” he stressed.
Liza paused, and he sensed she was trying to let that sink in. “Gage told us that already. When Penny mentioned she was worried about you marrying Patricia.”
“Penny was worried?” Matt hadn’t realized that stupid online article had made the rounds as far as it had.
“She wasn’t looking forward to spending holidays and family outings with Queen of the Mean Girls.”
“I didn’t know she’d seen the article. I would have put her fears to rest immediately.”
“Gage handled that for you. Said you were married to your work.”
Matt lifted one shoulder casually. “I’m not sure I would say it exactly that way. Work is work. Marriage is…something for other people. Something I have no interest in.”
“Why not?”
He knew Liza, knew she’d keep pushing until she got the answers to all her questions. She was destined for disappointment because there were parts of himself he’d vowed never to share. And while he could make up some lie about enjoying his bachelorhood, or employ the billionaire concerns about gold diggers and huge divorce settlements, he preferred to give her the same honesty she kept offering to him.
“I have reasons, Liza, but they’re personal.” It was as much as he could give her.
Liza leaned back and took another sip of her wine. The flight attendant served the rest of their dinner and refilled their glasses.
Rather than let Liza push for more once they were alone again, he cut her off at the pass because he needed to be certain of her single state as well. “Who was the man you were dancing with on New Year’s Eve?”
Her confusion appeased that unwanted jealous side of him because it was obvious she didn’t have a clue who he was talking about. Then the light went on. “Oh! You mean Miles? He’s Joey’s cohost on ManPower.”
“Is that a thing?”
“No. He’s a nice guy, but we were just dancing. I’m not dating anyone at the moment. You saw my last attempt crash and burn.”
She was referring to Davis Taylor, her date for the Snowflake Gala. The man had overplayed his hand that night, revealing not only his chauvinistic side but his overly ambitious one as well.
They ate quietly for a little while, and when Liza began speaking again, he realized she was still thinking about their conversation. “While you’re clinging to your swinging-single card, I’m trading mine in someday because I definitely want to get married.”
“Why?” he asked, lobbing her question back at her.
“Personal reasons,” she said with a shit-eating grin.
Matt lifted his wine glass, a silent touché to her smart-assery.
Then she answered anyway. “I’ve spent the last ten years as a single woman, living and eating alone, and I hate it. I want what my parents and grandparents have—companionship, love, and a big family.”
“A big family,” he said, not bothering to hide his disdain. “Why is it you Morettis feel compelled to pack every house with a hundred bodies?”
Liza laughed. “Gage filled you in on Christmas Eve, I see.”
“He did.”
“Did he tell you how much he loved it?”
Matt lifted one shoulder noncommittally, though the truth was Gage had spent the better part of an hour describing the Moretti holiday as if it was Mardi Gras, Rio Carnival, and Times Square on New Year’s Eve all rolled into one.
“You know what your problem is, Mr. Russo?” she asked in a teasing tone. “You wouldn’t know a good time if it bit you on the ass.”
Matt reached across the table, grasping Liza’s hand, pulling it until she was bent over the table. Kissing the back of her hand, he stroked the soft skin with his tongue, giving her one brief lick that had her expression morphing from playful to outright lust. “That’s not true. I had a good time the night of the gala.”
Liza’s eyes widened for a split second before she offered him another taste of that open honesty. “I did too,” she murmured. “It was one of the best nights of my life.”
Her words warmed him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand. “You said you discovered something about yourself.”
She nodded. “You know I did. You were there.”
“You’re right. I was there,” he admitted. “And I could be there again.” This was how Matt intended to entice her back into his bed. While he couldn’t give her marriage or kids or forever, there was something else she wanted…perhaps just as much.
“But—”
Matt acted as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ve arranged for a car to pick us up when we land and drive us to the hotel.”
The flight attendant returned from the bedroom. “Can I offer you anything to drink while we wait?”
Liza started to take her up on the offer, dying for a glass of wine, but Matt shook his head. “Not at the moment.”
The woman walked back to the front of the plane, disappearing from view.
“I could have gone for a glass of wine.” She was sort of annoyed that he’d spoken for both of them.
“And you can have some. Later.” Matt rose, offering her a hand to help her up as well. “First, I need you to come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
Matt kept hold of her hand, leading her down the wide aisle until they stood at what she assumed was the bedroom door. It was where the flight attendant had taken Matt’s luggage.
He was acting different today, more at ease, almost playful, if that was something he was capable of, and she wondered what had changed.
Maybe he felt more comfortable with her now that they’d established sex was off the table. Or maybe—God, she hated to think this—he was genuinely happy with Patricia, and she was hanging out with a man in love.
Ugh. That thought made her want to vomit.
Before she could come up with another, less puke-inducing idea, Matt opened the door and pulled her inside the bedroom.
Liza’s curiosity overrode the part of her brain screaming at her to turn around and go back to the main cabin of the plane. Because the last place she should be with Matt was a bedroom.
Instead, she surveyed the room, amazed by the sheer luxurious elegance. She didn’t know who Matt’s interior decorator was, but they had great taste.
“Wow,” Liza whispered, taking in the king-size bed with an ornate mahogany headboard, the matching nightstands and dresser, the soft lighting, and the large-screen TV hanging opposite the bed that was one of the kinds that looked like artwork when turned off. The bed was adorned with a fluffy white duvet and at least a half dozen deep blue throw pillows. “This room is incredible.”
“Glad you approve.” With a hand on her lower back, Matt moved her farther into the room, before stepping in front of her and pointing to her ripped jeans.
“Now… Take off your pants.”
Chapter Seven
The scowl Liza shot Matt amused him.
“Excuse me?” she asked haughtily.
Matt ignored her shocked outrage as he crossed to the bathroom, where he wet a washcloth with warm water before reaching beneath the sink to grab the first aid kit.
Liza was still standing next to the bed—in her jeans—when he returned, her hands on her hips. “Listen, Matt—” she started, but he cut her off.
“Your jeans are still on, Liza,” he said impatiently. From her flushed cheeks, he knew exactly how she was interpreting his request. Clearly, she hadn’t seen the kit in his hands, or if she had, she hadn’t managed to register his intent.
“And they’re staying that way. While I appreciate you offering to help me get to Hawaii, there’s no way—”
Matt held up the first aid kit. “Your knee is dirty. I can see bits of gravel in it from here. We need to clean it before it gets infected.”
“Oh.” She quickly shut her mouth, flushing slightly now that she realized he wasn’t propositioning her.
Or at least, he let her think he wasn’t.
She held out her hands for the kit and washcloth. “I can clean it.”
Matt held them away from her. “You had plenty of opportunities to do this yourself and you failed to take any of them. So now, I’m doing it.”
He’d been annoyed at the Initiative offices when she’d explained her injury. He’d nearly lost his shit at the thought of her changing a tire on the side of the highway. She could have been struck by a car, could have been killed. Then she’d ignored her injured knee, bypassing God only knew how many restrooms at the airport. And while he understood she’d been trying to catch a flight initially, that didn’t account for the ones she’d passed on the way out of the airport after she’d missed it.
Liza hadn’t done a very good job taking care of herself today, so he was taking over.
“Matt,” she said again, this time quieter, perhaps a bit uncertain.
“There’s no need to be shy. There’s nothing under those jeans I haven’t seen before. Up close and personal.”
His words struck the way he expected, Liza’s temper flaring. He didn’t have a clue what it said about him but seeing her outraged like this had his dick growing hard. Those brown eyes of hers—flashing fire—were a serious turn-on.
“And there’s nothing under these jeans you’ll ever see again,” she insisted, her voice loud. “We’re going for professionalism, remember?”
He fought not to grin as she threw that back in his face. She obviously didn’t like the way they’d ended things last time. Good. That would only make it easier for him when he told her that ship had sailed.
Matt placed the washcloth and first aid kit on the dresser, stepping in front of her. “You can take them off yourself, or I can do it for you. Choose. Now.”
Her anger wavered in the face of his threat…just as he expected. Because he had come to learn there was a hierarchy when it came to Liza’s emotions. Anger fell just a little lower on the list…right under her desire to submit.
Matt spent the past three weeks considering this trip to Hawaii and how he planned to change the rules. He’d allowed himself to get mired in dark thoughts in the month following the Snowflake Gala, and it had left him acting out of character, forgetting who he was at heart. He’d let his grip slip, convincing himself that the best way forward was to keep Liza out of the picture.
That had been a fool’s errand because his attraction to her had burrowed deep under his skin.
So it was time to revert back to the man he was deep down inside. In all things, business and personal, Matt was always in control.
He was a Russo, for God’s sake. He’d been raised to take what he wanted and offer no apologies for it.
He wasn’t the type of man who denied himself pleasure. Why would he? He could afford the best—private jets, luxurious suites, expensive wine and food—so denying himself Liza had gone against every single instinct he possessed.
The second he’d realized that, his eyes had been opened, and he’d decided that he didn’t have to push Liza away. He just had to control the situation. Set parameters. Find a way to make sure they kept emotions out of it.
“Liza.” He reached out, intent on ripping the dirty denim off her with his bare hands.
“Fine,” Liza replied hastily, through gritted teeth, as she put a few feet between them. She backed up toward the bed and unfastened her jeans. The confidence she’d revealed the night of the gala returned full force as she kept her chin up, toeing off her flats, then taking off her jeans.
Matt didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t looking.
She smirked.
“Take a good long look because this is the last time you’re going to see this particular view.”
He was tempted to fuck that snarky tone right out of her—with his dick in her mouth.
She wore a T-shirt with a thick cardigan on top. The cardigan did a good job. Too good. Covering her from mid-thigh and up. He considered telling her to lose the sweater too, but they weren’t there yet. He needed to lay his cards on the table. If he was lucky, she’d go along with his ground rules. If he wasn’t, he’d seduce the hell out of her until she agreed.
Matt gestured toward the mattress, inviting her to sit down. He didn’t miss the slight wince when she bent her injured knee, and his temper piqued again.
“You were reckless today.”
She rolled her eyes. “I changed a tire and scraped my knee. I’m really living life on the edge.”
Matt held his tongue. If she were his, he'd have a hell of a lot more to say about her changing a tire on the side of a busy highway. And he wouldn't just say it. He'd back his opinion up with a spanking that would remind her to take care with what belonged to him.
Fuck. Matt pushed that thought away because she wasn't his. Couldn't be his. Not truly.
Grabbing the first aid kit and washcloth, he knelt on the floor in front of her. Her soft intake of breath told him she was recalling the same thing he was. How he’d knelt in front of her the night of the gala, lifted one knee—the now-injured one—over his shoulder and driven her to her first orgasm with his tongue.
Neither of them spoke as he gently cleaned the cut, blowing on it to alleviate any sting. Then he put antibiotic cream on a large Band-Aid and covered the scrape. Leaning back on his haunches, he looked up, wondering at the amusement tugging at the tips of her lips.
“No kiss to make it better?” she teased.
She was good at issuing dares he couldn’t resist. Matt leaned forward to give her knee a soft kiss.
Liza jerked in surprise, not expecting him to take her up on her offer. He’d seen that same shock in her eyes when he’d responded to her comment about him overcompensating in the SUV.
“Thanks,” she said, her brows lowered in confusion. She was struggling to keep up, which made sense. After all, the last time they talked, he’d made that dumbass comment about keeping their relationship professional. He’d also allowed her to continue to believe he was dating Patricia. His actions today were in direct opposition to all of that.
“You’re welcome.”
Time to pull back on the flirting until they had time to discuss where the two of them were going from here.
Liza reached down to retrieve her jeans from the floor, but he picked them up before she could, tossing them onto a chair in the corner of the room.
“Stay there,” he said, rising and walking over to the dresser. “I keep sleepwear on the plane.” Opening the drawer, he pulled out a pair of lounge pants. “These might be a bit big, but they have a drawstring, so you should be able to keep them up with no problem.”
He handed the pants to Liza, who thanked him. While she put the lounge pants on, Matt opened his suitcase, pulling out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. “Give me a moment to change into something more comfortable and then we can go back to the main cabin. We should be taking off very soon.”
He changed in the bathroom, and when he stepped back into the bedroom, he discovered Liza already gone, so he returned to the main cabin, claiming the seat opposite her once more. She’d managed to snag her glass of wine. Matt requested the same, each of them sipping their merlot.
The flight attendant informed them they were about to take off. Buckling their seat belts, they gazed out the window as the jet taxied to the runway. Silence had fallen between them, but it wasn’t awkward. He’d spent too many evenings with women who felt as if they had to fill every moment with conversation, Patricia the worst offender of them all. Liza was the first woman he’d ever spent time with who appreciated the value of quiet companionship.
Once they reached their cruising altitude, the flight attendant refilled their wine glasses, then prepared the cabin for dinner. Liza watched the setup with interest—and a bit of awe—grinning at the ostentatiousness of it all.
“A tablecloth and real crystal goblets?” she murmured softly when the attendant returned to the kitchen area.
Matt smirked but said nothing in reply.
Once the table was set, they moved across the aisle to claim their seats, carrying their wine glasses with them. Placing napkins on their laps, they both thanked the flight attendant as she served the salad course.
“Can I ask you something?” Liza started.
“Of course.”
“Why isn’t Patricia your date for the wedding?”
That hadn’t taken long. He’d intended to bring up the subject himself because he couldn’t move forward with his plans for Liza as long as she believed he was dating the other woman.
“Contrary to what the tabloids say, Patricia and I are no longer dating. You know that, because you saw me break things off in the lobby of the Ritz.”
“Yet you were out with her the next night. You gave her the diamond tennis bracelet.”
“A parting gift. Nothing more. I do a lot of business with her father. I thought it best to clear the air between us so that my association with Richard Eddington wasn’t awkward.”
Liza wasn’t convinced. “Why was she in your office if you were still broken up?”
“Patricia is of the opinion that the two of us should get married.” Matt decided full disclosure was in his best interest when it came to Liza.
“She’s in love with you?”
Of course that was where Liza’s thoughts would go. In the world the Morettis inhabited, two things were certain—and it wasn’t Benjamin Franklin’s death and taxes. It was love and marriage.
“Not at all,” he said.
Liza frowned. “I don’t understand. Why marry someone you don’t love?”
“I should think that would be obvious. Money.”
Liza snorted—until she realized he was serious. “Because the two of you don’t have enough already?”
“People like Patricia will never have enough.”
“What about you?” Liza asked.
“I have plenty.”
“So you’re not going to marry her?”
Matt shook his head, grateful for this opening. If they were going to continue forward in the manner Matt hoped, Liza needed to understand one very vital thing about him. “No. I’m not marrying her. I’m not marrying anyone. Ever,” he stressed.
Liza paused, and he sensed she was trying to let that sink in. “Gage told us that already. When Penny mentioned she was worried about you marrying Patricia.”
“Penny was worried?” Matt hadn’t realized that stupid online article had made the rounds as far as it had.
“She wasn’t looking forward to spending holidays and family outings with Queen of the Mean Girls.”
“I didn’t know she’d seen the article. I would have put her fears to rest immediately.”
“Gage handled that for you. Said you were married to your work.”
Matt lifted one shoulder casually. “I’m not sure I would say it exactly that way. Work is work. Marriage is…something for other people. Something I have no interest in.”
“Why not?”
He knew Liza, knew she’d keep pushing until she got the answers to all her questions. She was destined for disappointment because there were parts of himself he’d vowed never to share. And while he could make up some lie about enjoying his bachelorhood, or employ the billionaire concerns about gold diggers and huge divorce settlements, he preferred to give her the same honesty she kept offering to him.
“I have reasons, Liza, but they’re personal.” It was as much as he could give her.
Liza leaned back and took another sip of her wine. The flight attendant served the rest of their dinner and refilled their glasses.
Rather than let Liza push for more once they were alone again, he cut her off at the pass because he needed to be certain of her single state as well. “Who was the man you were dancing with on New Year’s Eve?”
Her confusion appeased that unwanted jealous side of him because it was obvious she didn’t have a clue who he was talking about. Then the light went on. “Oh! You mean Miles? He’s Joey’s cohost on ManPower.”
“Is that a thing?”
“No. He’s a nice guy, but we were just dancing. I’m not dating anyone at the moment. You saw my last attempt crash and burn.”
She was referring to Davis Taylor, her date for the Snowflake Gala. The man had overplayed his hand that night, revealing not only his chauvinistic side but his overly ambitious one as well.
They ate quietly for a little while, and when Liza began speaking again, he realized she was still thinking about their conversation. “While you’re clinging to your swinging-single card, I’m trading mine in someday because I definitely want to get married.”
“Why?” he asked, lobbing her question back at her.
“Personal reasons,” she said with a shit-eating grin.
Matt lifted his wine glass, a silent touché to her smart-assery.
Then she answered anyway. “I’ve spent the last ten years as a single woman, living and eating alone, and I hate it. I want what my parents and grandparents have—companionship, love, and a big family.”
“A big family,” he said, not bothering to hide his disdain. “Why is it you Morettis feel compelled to pack every house with a hundred bodies?”
Liza laughed. “Gage filled you in on Christmas Eve, I see.”
“He did.”
“Did he tell you how much he loved it?”
Matt lifted one shoulder noncommittally, though the truth was Gage had spent the better part of an hour describing the Moretti holiday as if it was Mardi Gras, Rio Carnival, and Times Square on New Year’s Eve all rolled into one.
“You know what your problem is, Mr. Russo?” she asked in a teasing tone. “You wouldn’t know a good time if it bit you on the ass.”
Matt reached across the table, grasping Liza’s hand, pulling it until she was bent over the table. Kissing the back of her hand, he stroked the soft skin with his tongue, giving her one brief lick that had her expression morphing from playful to outright lust. “That’s not true. I had a good time the night of the gala.”
Liza’s eyes widened for a split second before she offered him another taste of that open honesty. “I did too,” she murmured. “It was one of the best nights of my life.”
Her words warmed him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand. “You said you discovered something about yourself.”
She nodded. “You know I did. You were there.”
“You’re right. I was there,” he admitted. “And I could be there again.” This was how Matt intended to entice her back into his bed. While he couldn’t give her marriage or kids or forever, there was something else she wanted…perhaps just as much.
“But—”
