Beddable Billionaire (Dirty Sexy Rich 2)

Grady held up his finger in a “just a minute” motion, then twirled his fork for a mouthful. After an exploratory bite, his eyes brightened and he nodded vigorously. “Deeeee-licious!”

Was it weird that Grady’s praise made me squirm a little with pride?

I didn’t know this kid. I barely knew his mother.

But everything I knew so far, I was kinda into.

A little voice warned that I was messing with things that were out of my depth.

But that was part of the allure.

Hell, I never said I was a saint and I never pretended to be. I looked to Lauren with a smile, wineglass in hand.

“Shall we start the interview?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lauren

AS MUCH AS I wanted to find fault with Nico’s culinary skills, I couldn’t. He made a mean dish of pasta, and that wine pairing was divine. After listening to how Nico prepared his sauce, simmering it for hours after I left, I was embarrassed to admit that spaghetti in my house came from a jar.

“You’re very proud of your heritage,” I said after Nico shared some of his family’s history. “How did your family go from a wine-making operation to the global empire that Donato Inc. is today?”

“Is that part of the article?” he asked, smiling above the rim of his glass, those dazzling eyes something of rare beauty. Or maybe that was the wine talking. No, I could admit he had gorgeous eyes without wanting to sleep with him. He refilled both our glasses, and even though I knew I shouldn’t, I didn’t stop him. Grady, having finished and becoming bored with grown-up talk, had gleefully taken up Nico’s offer to level up his gamer tag on his gaming system. It would’ve been mean to refuse Nico’s offer, but I wished I still had Grady for a buffer. “To be honest, the business side of my family’s operation has never interested me. I was never in line for a serious position—my father has his heir and a spare, which makes me the spare ‘spare’—so I don’t really care how our family rose to the place where we are now. I reap the benefit, and that’s all that matters.”

“You don’t mind that your father doesn’t think of you in the same way as your brothers?”

“If you’re asking if I have daddy issues, the answer is emphatically no. Why would I want the stress of running the empire on my shoulders? I’d much rather spend my time pursuing happy things. If you met my brothers, you’d see what I mean. It’s a blessing, in my opinion, that I’m not on my father’s radar.”

“But that just seems wrong. A father is supposed to love his children equally.” I didn’t want to feel bad for Nico, but a part of me did. “I mean, what kind of relationship do you have with your father?”

Nico chuckled but I sensed I’d hit a chord. He shifted as he explained, “My father is an old-world misogynist with whom I have nothing in common, so it’s safe to say I don’t have much of a relationship with the old fart and I’m not missing out on anything.”

“That’s sad. You missed out on what it’s like to have a great father. Mine died when I was fifteen, but he was my world and we were very close. Losing him still hurts to this day.”

“Well, I guess I can’t miss what I never had.”

A true statement, but Nico’s flippant shrug was incongruent with the sudden shuttering of his gaze to focus on the wine left in his glass. “Are you close with your brothers?” I asked.

“Do you have any siblings?” he countered.

“A younger sister, Claire. She’s in her last year at NYU.”

“And are you close?”

“Yeah, I like to think so, but the age gap makes things a little difficult at times. I mean, she’s still in that college frame of mind, and I’ve moved on from that stage.”

“Because you have a kid.”

“Not only because of that but I suppose it was a big motivating factor in my need to grow up.”

“So...single mom...there’s a story there...” he fished, but I wasn’t about to share that particular story, so I shut him down.

I placed my empty wineglass on the table and turned off my recorder. “I should probably get going. It’s getting late.”

Nico made a show of checking his watch and disagreed. “It’s barely ten o’clock. The clubs are just starting to open. This is when the night begins.”

“Not when you have a sleepy six-year-old,” I said, rising. “I’ve already stayed way longer than I’d planned.” That was an embarrassing understatement. I wasn’t even sure if I had enough information for my article in spite of spending hours in Nico’s company. “But I didn’t count on you being a master chef and surprisingly consummate host,” I admitted sheepishly.

Nico laughed, amused by my admission. A dimple in his right cheek flashed, and I felt my knees tremble suspiciously. It’d been a long time since I’d felt anything remotely resembling attraction, since Houston made his grand exit, and I didn’t particularly appreciate the familiar tingle now.

Yes, definitely time to go.

I walked into the living room to gather Grady and found him sacked out. Mom guilt set in hard. I bit my lip, chagrined. “Damn it,” I murmured, “he’s already asleep.”

“It’s the pasta. Best sleeping aid in the world,” Nico boasted, nodding as if he’d accomplished some great feat as to put a six-year-old to sleep.

“I hate to burst your bubble, but Grady’s internal clock put him to sleep, not your pasta. My son has never had a problem dropping off, no matter where he is. I should’ve known better and left earlier.”

“It’s not the end of the world,” Nico said. “Just stay.”

I balked. “Excuse me?”

“Calm down, Mama Bear. I have a spare bedroom. The sheets are clean and the pillows like clouds. I don’t mind if you and Grady take the spare.”

“Yes, but I mind,” I told him, unable to believe he would think I would stay the night with him, separate bedroom or not. The fact that my mind went somewhere it shouldn’t sharpened my tone. “It’s not appropriate.”

But he didn’t seem to notice and chided playfully, “I don’t get many opportunities to play the gentleman. You would rob me of the chance to play the hero?”

My cheeks flushed as butterflies erupted in my stomach. Maybe it was the wine, but he just got ten times hotter—which really should’ve been a crime.

“It’s just not... I mean, what would people say? I have a reputation to protect. Not to mention if my editor found out...it would be all bad.”

Nico still didn’t see the problem. “We’re adults. We’re allowed to make our own choices.”

“Clearly,” I said with a hint of exasperation. “Which is why we both should know better.”

“It’s not as if I’m asking you to share my bed,” he said, sending an illicit shiver down my backside. “Now, that might be construed as...inappropriate.”

“Y-yes, completely inappropriate,” I agreed, bobbing my head vigorously, though my stomach muscles had just tightened at the idea. “I wouldn’t even consider it.” What a total lie. I’d just considered it. Maybe for a microsecond, but it still counted.

“Neither would I.”

And yet, his gaze was saying something else entirely. His gaze, if my senses weren’t malfunctioning, was saying, if given half the chance, he’d fuck me raw.

My stomach tightened again. I didn’t like this feeling. Everything was tingling and aware—including my lady parts, which I would’ve much preferred to remain silent and dead when around Nico Donato. Except, as fantasy material went...Nico was pretty hot. I wasn’t above using him for mental purposes later...but to be honest, I was tired of getting myself off by myself. Just for the sake of argument, Nico might be the perfect way to scratch that itch without fear of anything turning serious, which I didn’t need or want.

In that case, it wouldn’t be me becoming a notch on his bedpost, but rather, the other way around. The

idea had merit. Or I’d had too much wine. It could go either way.

However, for tonight, home was where I’d sleep.

“Your offer is very generous but I can’t,” I said firmly. “There’s no way I could explain to Grady why we spent the night at a stranger’s house without uncomfortable questions. You might’ve already noticed, he’s very smart.”

“A point in his favor,” Nico said. “Most kids are irritating. Yours is surprisingly entertaining.”

I chuckled ruefully. “Well, he has his moments, but you can imagine what kind of questions his head might conjure if we stayed.”

“Fair enough but you will let me call for a car.”

“I can call an Uber,” I protested, but Nico wouldn’t budge. There was something oddly protective about his determination to ensure our safety that plucked at my primitive female brain. I withheld a sigh of longing, wishing for a brief moment that I didn’t suffer from the knowledge that all men were pigs and had ulterior motives.

Because if I didn’t suffer that knowledge I might even enjoy an evening tangled up with Nico, skin on skin, covered in sex sweat and moaning loud enough to cause the neighbors to complain.

I rubbed my suddenly damp palms, needing to get away from Nico. Maybe Uncle Ronnie was right—it’d been too long since I’d been with a man—because I was actually starting to fantasize about banging boots with Nico Donato, a man I held zero respect for and would never trust.

But I bet the sex would be fantastic.

Of course it would be!