an emotion that would never be on offer to her.
Blood throbbed at her temples. She couldn’t change the past as much as she wished she could, but she could—would—fight Lorenzo on this.
She could postpone the wedding until her divorce came through. Move to a cheaper studio space. But that still didn’t address the financial difficulties the Carmichael Company was in. The responsibility that lay on her shoulders.
A chill crawled through her at the thought of the cold, hard stranger she’d faced on the terrace last night. Lorenzo had always been tough, carved by his experiences, shaped by the cutthroat scion of the Ricci family, Salvatore Ricci, but last night she’d seen a whole new lethal side of him.
Had her walking out on Lorenzo made him this heartless? Or was that just the man he’d become?
Guilt fought a battle with anger. Anger won. She’d been right last night—too much had passed between her and Lorenzo to ever resurrect their marriage. He needed to see reason.
She stalked to her desk, pulled her purse out of the bottom drawer and headed for the door. She was not letting Lorenzo bully her, steal her happiness. Force her back into a life that had nearly destroyed her because he needed an heir for the illustrious Ricci dynasty. She had grown too strong over the past couple of years to let him ride roughshod over her.
Her husband was about to find out just how much she’d changed.
* * *
Lorenzo was easy to find. Another hot, steamy Manhattan night bathed the city in a smoky heat as Angie stepped through the doors of her husband’s Park Avenue building. The doorman’s face lit up when he saw her. Federico’s gray brows rose just a fraction before he lowered them back into place and ushered her into the private elevator.
Lorenzo didn’t bat an eyelash when the doors opened on the top-floor penthouse. He waved her in as he talked on his headset. As if he’d been expecting her.
Dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt, he looked less corporate shark tonight and more deadly male, the jeans riding low, hugging his lean hips and muscular thighs, his black T-shirt skimming rock-hard abs he kept in premium condition at the gym where he pushed himself as hard as he did everywhere else.
Hell. She banished the frisson of sexual awareness that pulsed through her and walked past him into the luxurious dark brown and chrome space. Lorenzo in casual clothes, which made him look like a mere mortal rather than the deity Wall Street painted him as, had always been her weakness. Perpetuated her belief he had a heart when in fact he did not.
Eyeing the bottle of wine and two glasses that sat on the marble bar, she wondered if he’d been that confident she would show up or whether he’d been expecting someone else. Her stomach contracted into a tight ball. Bringing her back teeth together, she walked to the bar and looked for a bottle of sparkling water in the fridge. Lorenzo covered the microphone and told her to open the wine.
She did. If only to give herself something to do other than absorb the pure physicality of the man pacing the room. She poured two glasses of wine, picked up one and took a sip. Lorenzo rattled off a series of instructions for whoever was on the call and ended it.
“Scusami,” he murmured, as he pulled off the headset, tossed it on a chair and walked toward her. “I’m in the middle of negotiations for a company we’re looking to acquire.”
When wasn’t he? “You didn’t know I was coming,” she said, holding out a glass of the expensive French red he’d provided to put a physical barrier between them. He noted it with an amused twist of his lips.
“I apologize if you were expecting company.”
“I was expecting you.” Instead of taking the glass, he wrapped his elegant, long-fingered hand around hers and drew her to him.
Her heart slammed against her chest. “Lorenzo...”
He dipped his head toward hers, a dark glimmer of intent in his beautiful eyes. “We forgot our manners last night. Perhaps we should start again.”
Her breath caught in her throat. He was going to kiss her. She opened her mouth to protest, to say absolutely not, but his firm, sensual lips landed on her cheek instead. Lingered just a little too long for civility’s sake...
An electric current charged through her as he repeated the gesture on her other cheek, little pinpricks of heat exploding across her skin. Thoroughly flustered, she stepped back. “I’m not here to accept your proposition.”
He lifted a brow. “So you are here to...”
“Talk reason with you.”
“All right,” he said calmly in the placating tone he’d always used to soothe her like some high-spirited racehorse he’d paid millions for. “Over the wine, then. I’ve had a hellish day.”
Was she allowed to find that secretly enjoyable? She handed him the glass and followed him to the sitting area, where she sank down into one of the chocolate-brown leather chairs she’d always loved to read in.
“What company are you acquiring?”
“The Belmont Hotel Group.” He lowered himself into the sofa across from her, splaying his long legs in front of him.
The Belmont? One of the world’s most historic luxury hotel chains, it boasted boutique properties in some of the world’s most glamorous, exotic locations.
“I’m shocked it’s for sale.”
“It’s not.”
“Ah.” She took a sip of her wine. “A hostile takeover, then.”
“More like a reluctant bride that needs to be brought to heel. She wants to be there but she can’t bring herself to admit it.”
She eyed him coolly. “Isn’t it all the same? It’s your specialty, after all. Find a vulnerable company, strip it of its assets, then relegate the rest to the scrap heap. Symbolism, tradition, be damned.”
He cocked a brow. “Is this you setting the tone, cara mia? I thought you wanted to keep things civil.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t care for what you do.”
“You didn’t always feel that way. You used to think it was hot, the power I wield. It was an aphrodisiac for you.”
Heat stained her cheeks. “And then I grew up. I saw the hundreds of people you put out of jobs. How you relegated iconic companies to the history books if you could profit from it. It was always about the almighty dollar.”
“Most of the companies I acquire would eventually fail. It’s only a matter of time. In Belmont’s case, they have lost sight of what the luxury traveler is looking for—their profits have nose-dived. Call it being cruel to be kind.”
“A wolf in sheep’s clothing is still a wolf...” She pointed her glass at him. “The question is, when is it all going to be enough, this obsession you have with owning the world?”
He rested his glass on his thigh. “What would you have me do? Rest on my laurels? Tell my shareholders I’ve proven myself—‘so sorry, but that’s all the profit you can
