Scandalous L.A. Desires

by

Laura Breck

Chapter One

Run now, Lindsey, and don’t look back! her inner voice screamed, but she ignored it, planted her strappy high-heeled sandals on the marble floor, straightened her spine and blithely sipped her champagne. Across the Getty Museum’s modern circular entrance hall, the most handsome man she’d ever seen turned his head and returned her stare. She smiled, a friendly invitation, not too flirty… But then it hit her like a green flash, her lips flattened while her bravado deserted her. Crap, this had to be the artist whose work highlighted tonight’s fundraiser. And whose career she was about to demolish.

He turned and spoke to someone. This was her chance to slip away, but just one minute longer couldn’t hurt. Raising her glass to her lips, she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

His wavy black hair looked so soft her fingertips tingled with the thought of touching it. A little long, it brushed the collar of his exquisitely tailored suit. Definitely Italian, both the suit and the man in it. His nose was perfectly aquiline, his skin a shade darker than hers. And tall, over six feet. Fantastic.

His gaze met hers and he nodded. Her face flushed at being caught gawking like a moonstruck fool, but she couldn’t look away. Those gorgeous brown eyes made her warm in all the right places. She could get lost in them, let the rest of the world fade away until just the two of them existed. She sighed. The possibilities were tempting, she could definitely find time in her busy life to date a man like him. If only he wasn’t Dante Daniato.

Run, Lindsey, run for your life! She’d heard shockingly wicked stories about him and the numerous women he dated. Her instinct said his expressive eyes were experienced, arrogant, and interested in seeing more than what her gown revealed.

Standing next to the artist, the short, elderly museum curator waved to Lindsey and the two men walked toward her.

“Miss Beauden,” the curator’s voice carried over the chatter of the crowd. “You must meet our famous visitor.”

Too late to escape. She forced a smile.

They reached her, and in his dramatic way, the curator announced, “Miss Lindsey Beauden, this is Dante Daniato, the extraordinary Italian artist.”

She was right. Thanks to her impulsive staring, she was face to face with Los Angeles’ most eligible and notorious bachelor.

He stopped close in front of her. Too close.

Overwhelmed by his height and broad shoulders, she leaned back slightly and extended her hand to him. His powerful hand enveloped hers, and the contact shot like electricity through her veins.

She swallowed and managed to say, “I’m pleased to meet you, Signore Daniato.” Her heart rate increased as he continued to hold her hand.

“The pleasure is mine, Miss Beauden.”

Oh, heavens, what a voice! The hint of an accent propelled him to number one on her list of sexiest men. His smile revealed perfect teeth, and tiny sun wrinkles appeared on the outer corners of his eyes. Then he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

She sighed. Dreamy, but dangerous. “Please, Signore, call me Lindsey.”

He released her hand, but his stare remained locked on her. “Then you must call me Dante.”

The sound of his name bounced around inside her suddenly-empty head, and she forgot to respond–and breathe.

His left eyebrow lifted slightly, and his eyes seemed to twinkle.

Was he laughing at her struck-speechless performance? He had to get that same reaction a lot. He was the definition of sexy.

After a few seconds, the curator cleared his throat. “Dante has kindly donated art to be displayed in the museum, as well as a number of pieces that will be sold tonight to benefit our outreach program.”

Her gaze flew to the curator’s. The outreach program was the reason her family was considering pulling their funding. Had her parents spoken to him already? No, the man’s eyes showed only excitement.

She covered, “I’ve heard a great deal about the museum’s outreach program–providing art classes for inner city youth. It’s a wonderful project.” Which was all true. Only one component of the project was offensive: the artist whose reputation preceded him, Dante Daniato.

“Do you have children?” Dante asked her.

She met his intense stare. “No, I don’t, but The Beauden Foundation is very interested in all charities dealing with children.” That sounded snooty, not caring and giving, which were her personal mottos.

The curator smiled. “And we truly appreciate your support.” Then to Dante he added, “Lindsey’s family foundation is a major sponsor.”

She caught herself chewing the inside of her cheek and took a sip of champagne. Her family foundation–of which she was the president–was about to issue an ultimatum to the museum. If they didn’t agree to their demands, the Beauden Foundation’s sponsorship would end. She was not looking forward to that battle.

Dante asked, “What are your foundation’s objectives?”

She took a breath. Over the last six months, Lindsey had repeated their mission statement to hundreds of prospective charity representatives. “For generations, The Beauden Company has imported cloth for use in the garment industry. The foundation was established a century ago to provide assistance for local organizations. When my parents took ownership of the company, they expanded the scope to include improving conditions in cloth factories around the world. But we still focus mainly on supporting local charities.”

Dante nodded. “Most admirable.”

The curator said, “Lindsey recently took over the position of foundation president.”

She was certain Dante’s eyes flashed a hint of surprise, and she steeled her expression. Would she ever get used to people’s reactions to her job title? Her youth and clichéd blonde-California-girl looks gave the impression she wasn’t a serious businesswoman. Maybe she should keep her Master’s Degree in her purse to prove that she did indeed have a brain.

To Lindsey, the curator said, “When I spoke with your parents earlier in the receiving line, they mentioned they wanted to talk to me. I imagine they want to buy a few pieces of art.”

She nodded. That wasn’t why they were looking for him.

While the curator spoke excitedly to Dante about the Beauden’s art collection, Lindsey glanced around the room. Tucking a loose strand of long hair back into her chignon, she looked up the circular stairway that wound to the second floor. She didn’t spot her family in the vicinity. She wanted to be as far away from the curator and Dante Daniato as possible when her parents presented the foundation’s ultimatum.

Her gaze returned to Dante and she caught him studying her left hand. Was he looking for a ring?

The curator said, “I believe I see your father, Miss Beauden.” He looked between Dante and her. “Please excuse me.” He executed a half bow and walked away.

Dante said, “He’s an interesting man.”

She smiled. “He has panache.” She glanced toward the front doors. Time to make an exit. “I think I’ll–”

“Have you seen my work yet?”

“Ah…” She was caught. Looking up into his expectant eyes, she couldn’t produce a little white lie. “No, I haven’t.”

“I would be honored to escort you.”

He chivalrously offered his arm and she took it, feeling his warmth through the layers of clothes. The thrill of guilty pleasure tingled through her. No wonder women were lining up to be this man’s next conquest.

As they walked, the fresh, tropical scent of his cologne drifted her way. Nice, it matched his style–smooth as glass. She inhaled deeply, then sighed, “Hmmm.”

“You sound like you’re enjoying our stroll.” His smile was wicked.

Her face warmed. God, she was such a girl, all flustered and blushing just because a “tall-dark-handsome” smiled at her. She gave herself a mental slap, then joked, “Excuse me. I think it was the bubbles from the champagne.”

He laughed, deep and resonant. It sent a rush of delight through her, and she couldn’t stop the smile that curled her lips.

Although the event was drawing to a close and the crowd was thinning, they were stopped a half-dozen times by people who congratulated him on his work. Lindsey introduced acquaintances to Dante, and caught a few curious glances at her hand resting on his arm. Although no one commented, her parents would definitely hear about it.

They strolled through the central courtyard and entered a pavilion. He detoured toward a bar and set down her half-empty champagne flute, took two full glasses and handed one to her. It felt cool in her fingers, and as she took a sip, he bent close to her ear.

“Watch out for the bubbles.”

She nearly choked, then looked up to see his teasing grin.

He stared at her, and his expression slowly turned serious. “Your eyes are incredible. Your dress brings out the gold in them.”

Gold? She described her eyes as muddy brown, but hearing his compliment, she was glad she’d splurged on the gown. She glanced down at the floor-length, gold sequined sheath, and looking back up at him, her dangly earrings tinkled brightly.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “I’m glad I didn’t wear red.”

He chuckled, “You’re making this difficult. I’m working my way to ask you to dinner, and you deflect me with humor.”

Her stomach flipped in excitement, but her sense of self-preservation kicked in. No way would she ever date this man. “I’m afraid I’ve given you the wrong impression.”

She took her hand from his arm and walked to a window framing a view of downtown Los Angeles.

He followed and stood behind her. “Please excuse my presumption.”

She gazed at his reflection in the glass.

He continued, “I usually have much better manners.” He leaned closer, spoke softly. “But being in the presence of such beauty is an overwhelming experience for me.”

His warmth reached her, and turning, she found herself staring into his eyes, just inches away.

His sensual expression warned that he wasn’t giving up. Then he looked at her lips.

He wouldn’t dare kiss her, would he? She quickly turned her head and took a step away.

Taking her hand, he tucked it back on his arm, and continued walking as if nothing exceptional had happened.

Blowing out the breath she’d been holding, she felt her knees quiver. His seduction was definitely working.

They walked past a string quartet playing Bach, and he asked, “Are you telling me you’re not available? Or are you saying you’re not interested in me?”

She felt cornered; she was available, and very interested in him, but she knew better than to admit either. She kept her tone light. “Or perhaps I’m afraid of photographers, and you live in the spotlight.”

He stopped and his face held a serious expression. “If that’s all you know about me, I can understand your reluctance.”

She tamped down the urge to question that odd statement. No doubt he had a well-crafted line to explain his lifestyle. A line he successfully used to lure all those women into his arms. And she did not care to hear it. She started walking and tugged on his arm to get him moving. The sooner this stroll ended, the quicker she’d be able to gather her jumbled emotions and concoct an excuse to get away from him.

They passed through a gallery of antiquities on loan from another museum. She avoided conversation by admiring the ancient paintings hanging in gilt frames, the faces in the artwork so real she could almost feel them looking at her. But it wasn’t the paintings; it was his eyes that gave her the sensation of being watched.

She made the mistake of glancing at him.

He studied her, his eyebrows drawn together as if he were trying to read her thoughts.

She had to be sending him mixed signals, first staring at him and then making jokes and pushing him away when he started flirting. And that’s exactly how she felt–mixed. Looking into his inquisitive eyes, she was torn between being flattered by his attention and being so intimidated by his notoriety that she wanted to take out her cell phone and call her mother to come and find her.

But she’d been in tense situations before, and she could handle this one by herself. Keeping her tone casual, she chose a new subject. “I understand you’re in this country teaching and studying. What types of art interest you?”

His expression softened. “I love the female form.”

She closed her eyes for a second. Of course he did.

He chuckled. “I didn’t mean that sexually. I endeavor to find the soul captured in a painting or sculpture. Every woman is beautiful on the outside, it’s the inner light that interests me.”

He surprised her with his insight.

As another group stopped them, Lindsey watched Dante’s flawless conversation style. Always asking, with interest, what they did for a living, offering a compliment to the ladies, and smoothly drawing Lindsey into the conversation. She was in the presence of a world-class charmer, and people loved him.

Breaking away from the admirers, they arrived at the large, modern room displaying his artwork. A few stragglers walked on the quiet hardwood floors, speaking in hushed tones.

Amazed by the superb paintings and statues, she slipped her hand from his arm and slowly spun, looking around the room.

She whispered, “All this is yours?”

“Sì.”

It seemed natural to switch to Italian. “Bellissimo! Sei un privilegiato.”

“Grazie.”

She felt his gaze follow her as she moved through the exhibit. Each painting stood out as a masterpiece and looked as comfortable in this museum as any Monet or Renoir. She caught the distinctive smell of oil paint, and it reminded her of high school art class.

He was suddenly behind her. “Your Italian is excellent.”

“College classes. And I spent a month in Italy with my parents.” She continued to amble, admiring his work.

“Ti piace l’Italia?”

“Yes, I love Italy, it’s a beautiful country.” She looked at him. “Di dov’ è Lei?”

“I’m from Tuscany. From a small town on the sea.”

“How nice.” She turned to a painting of a secluded beach and imagined him walking on it, the golden sun warming his olive skin, wearing nothing but a sexy… Enough! She sucked in a breath. How did this man make her lose all control?

She stopped at a life-size marble statue of a woman au natural. “She is breathtaking.”

He approached her and agreed, “MmHm. Very beautiful,” but he wasn’t looking at the sculpture.

Choosing to ignore his implication, she focused on the exquisite statue, walking around it and away from him.

“How long did it take you to create her?”

“About six months.”

“Who was your model?”

“I worked through an agency.”

“Is this one of the pieces the museum is selling?”

“Not anymore. It’s yours.”

A surprised laughed escaped her lips, she stopped and looked up at him. Was he teasing her? “I know you’re not serious. This statue is worth a small fortune.”

His eyes held an intense look.

Oh, heavens, he actually wanted to give her the statue. “Really, I–”

“I’ll donate another to the museum. You can have her.”

She walked toward him, shaking her head. “You are very generous, Signore Daniato. But…” Damn! Of course–he must have heard about the ultimatum. The warm, dreamy mood he’d evoked quickly turned to bitter suspicion.

She squared her shoulders. “Are you offering me a bribe, Signore?”

His face registered confusion. “A bribe? In exchange for what?”

She raised an eyebrow. Fine, she would play along. “For continuing to fund the youth outreach program?”

His brow furrowed. “You said your family–your foundation–supported the program.”

Did he really not know, or was he trying to force her to say it? She took a breath. “Our foundation will pull funding for the program, and for the museum, if The Getty allows undesirable elements to interact with the children.”

“Undesirable elements?” He seemed confused, then anger registered on his face. “Are you talking about me?”