“But Olivia Bianchi—”
“No,” he said tersely.
Biting her lip, Lilley looked up at him. He wasn’t telling her the whole truth. And the waves of danger emanating off his body nearly scorched her. If he found out who Lilley really was, she would lose her job—or possibly get dragged into court on charges of corporate espionage. Every instinct of self-preservation told her one thing: Run.
“Sorry,” she said. “No.”
His eyes widened. She’d clearly shocked him. “Why?”
She bit her lip. “My work—”
“Give me a real reason,” he bit out.
A real reason? How about the fact that she was the daughter of a man he hated, and the cousin of another man he hated even more? Or the biggest reason of all: his strength, power and masculine beauty terrified her, making her heart pound and her body break out in a hot sweat? No man had ever had this effect on her, ever, and she didn’t know what to do. Except run.
“My boyfriend … my ex-boyfriend,” she stumbled, “will be at the ball tonight with my friend—Nadia. So you see I couldn’t possibly go.”
“He’ll be at the ball?” Alessandro’s eyes sharpened. “Do I know him—this man who made you weep?”
“He works in the Preziosi jewelry-design division.”
His eyes gleamed. “All the more reason to go. When he sees you on my arm, he will remember your value and beg you to come back to him. You can accept his groveling or spurn him, as you choose. And the woman will suffer when she sees you as my date.”
She stared up at him in amazement. “You don’t have self-esteem issues, do you?”
He looked at her with an even gaze. “We both know it is true.”
Lilley pressed her lips together, knowing he was right. If she went as his date, she would be the most envied woman in the city—possibly in all of California.
The thought of Nadia and Jeremy groveling at her feet and begging for forgiveness was a delicious one. All the times Lilley had worked late, all the times she’d asked Nadia to please explain to Jeremy and entertain him, and they’d betrayed her. She had no friends in this city now. None.
She lifted her eyes to Alessandro’s. “I’m not a very good dancer.”
He slowly looked her over. “I find that hard to believe.”
“I took ballroom-dancing lessons as a kid, and my teacher asked me to quit. I was like one of those dancing elephants with tutus. All my boyfriends have complained about me stepping on their feet.”
His expression changed, became softer. “Even if that were true,” he murmured, “the fault would be your partner’s, not yours. It is the man’s responsibility to lead.”
She swallowed. “Um. I… I never thought of that. I just assumed I was to blame.”
“You assumed wrong,” he said simply, then lifted his eyebrow. “But just out of curiosity, how many is all?”
“What?”
“All your boyfriends.”
Oh heavens. She couldn’t tell him her pathetic number. She lifted her chin and said with false bravado, “A few.”
“Ten?” he persisted.
The heat in her cheeks deepened as her shoulders slumped. “Two,” she confessed. “A boyfriend in high school, and …” A lump rose in her throat. “… and Jeremy.”
“Jeremy. That is his name? The man who broke your heart?”
“He betrayed me.” She looked at the floor. “But that’s not what broke my heart.”
He waited, but she did not explain. “So go out tonight. Your dancing skills are irrelevant, because we will not dance.”