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“I bought two servings of rigatoni with meat sauce so you wouldn’t have to worry about dinner,” she said, talking to him as if he was right in front of her. “And Sofia insisted on packaging up some of her tiramisu for you, as well, which she said was your favorite.”
At the mention of those two items, his stomach growled hungrily. He’d had a busy day with meetings and calls and hadn’t had time to eat lunch, and quite frankly, he was starved.
“I’m going to put your rigatoni in the oven to heat it with mine, in hopes that I can convince you to join me for dinner tonight. I’d really love the company.” She exhaled a deep breath, a hint of vulnerability softening her features. “I just . . . really don’t want to spend another evening alone.”
The fact that she wore her emotions so completely on her sleeve thawed a little more of Maddux’s resolve to keep the walls between them nice and high and insurmountable. She turned back to the stove and slid the heatable containers into the oven to warm the food inside, then without saying another word or looking at the camera again, she left the kitchen.
He didn’t like the feeling of being . . . ignored. How fucking ironic was that? He followed her trek through the living room, where she kicked off her heels, then padded in her bare feet out the French doors leading to the terrace. Hands braced on the railing, she looked out over the view, and he couldn’t get her words out of his head. I don’t want to spend another evening alone.
He scrubbed a hand along the light beard growth on his jawline, feeling those contained and guarded parts of his psyche slowly caving to the soft, imploring way she’d asked him to join her. He knew what it felt like to be alone, and though he’d spent the past fourteen years living that way by choice, for once he just wanted to enjoy a woman’s company beyond something sexual. Not just any woman, he amended, but Arabella, specifically.
He justified that it was just a meal, and he had enough self-control to eat dinner with a woman without crossing any physical lines. Once dinner was over, he could retreat to his penthouse office until she was asleep for the evening, then he’d join her, because he didn’t relish the thought of spending another night tossing and turning on the hard, uncomfortable couch in his apartment office as he had the evening before.
Decision made, he stood up and removed his work tie and hung it on a hook behind the office door, where his suit jacket was, then unfastened the first five buttons down his shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his forearms so he was more comfortable and casual. He took the elevator to his apartment, then made his way out to the terrace, where Arabella was still standing, a slight, cool spring breeze feathering through her unbound hair.
As soon as she heard his footsteps, she turned around, surprise and delight widening her big blue eyes at the sight of him, and damn if her unconcealed joy didn’t make him want to smile. It took effort not to be a total sap and grin.
“You came!” she said on a rush of breath, her excitement palpable as she clasped her hands in front of her.
He pushed his fists into the front pockets of his slacks. “It was the tiramisu that lured me,” he teased, surprising himself with the humorous tone of his voice.
She stepped toward him and raised a brow, her expression equally playful. “Was that all that lured you?”
Her. Always her. God, what was happening to him? She was like a beacon of light to his darkness, drawing him closer and closer.
“And I’m hungry,” he admitted, unwilling to confess how much being in her company had factored into his decision.
“Okay, I’ll take it,” she said happily. “Dinner should be just about warmed up, so I’ll go and plate it. It’s such a lovely night out. How about we eat out here on the terrace?” she suggested, indicating the outdoor table he rarely used.
“Sounds good. While you’re getting dinner, I’ll grab us a bottle of wine to go with the meal.”
“Perfect!” Grinning enthusiastically, she passed him on her way to the kitchen, a visible bounce to her step.
Maddux made a quick trip to his wine cellar, selecting a mellow Pinot Noir that would pair nicely with a tomato-based red sauce. He grabbed two wineglasses and met Arabella back out on the terrace just as she was setting two plates of steaming rigatoni on the table, along with napkins and silverware. They sat across from one another, he poured them each a good portion of the Pinot Noir, and they started eating the delicious meal. The whole situation almost felt domestic . . . and more comfortable than he would have expected.
A few bites in, she dabbed her napkin across her mouth and glanced across the table at him. “I really enjoyed meeting Luca and Sofia,” she said of the Morettis. “They were warm and kind, and they think very highly of you.”
“Surprised?” he asked wryly, taking a drink of his wine.
“No. Not at all,” she said with a shake of her head. “For sure, you’re a mix of contradictions. I mean, you’ve kind of given me whiplash over the last few days with your shifting moods, but despite how surly you can be, I’m also starting to see how much you care about certain people around you. Your siblings. Milo. And the Morettis, for starters. I understand that I’m the exception and your brusque attitude toward me stems from whatever is between you and my father, but despite all your attempts to make me believe you’re this mercenary beast, I don’t believe that’s who you truly are deep inside.”
Whoa. Maddux processed her astute comment as he ate a bite of his dinner. Her insight shouldn’t have surprised him considering she was an idealist who tended to see the good in people—Gavin withstanding, because the guy was a royal dick—but Maddux didn’t want Arabella prying into his character and unearthing the part of him he reserved for the people he cared about or loved, which was an incredibly small circle . . . so why was he tempted to reveal more of the man he was beneath all the pain and anger that had driven him for fourteen long years when no other woman had ever prompted such an urge?
“But don’t worry,” she went on affably after taking a drink of wine, unaware of his internal struggle to constantly keep his emotional walls up around her. “I promise not to tell anyone that you’re a really nice guy and ruin your boorish reputation.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, keeping a straight face.
She pushed a few of the noodles around on her dish before glancing across the table at him, her expression suddenly thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”
No. That’s what he should have said and shut down whatever serious question was coming his way, but his mouth and brain didn’t cooperate. “Yes.”
“Luca and Sofia said that they owed you . . . that you’ve done a lot for them and more than they could ever repay.” Her voice was soft and curious. “What did you do to help them?”
Arabella didn’t realize it, but her question was a loaded, explosive one, and the honest answer would undoubtedly send her reeling in shock. Six years ago, when Maddux had first started purchasing real estate in the area, along with rebuilding the low-income areas and helping to restore small fledgling businesses that were about to go under, Maddux had learned that Theodore and Gavin had quietly claimed the neighborhood as their own little financial playground.
Every month, they demanded lofty payments from the stores and markets with sole proprietorships in exchange for “protection” that the businesses didn’t ne
ed. But not making those payments resulted in threats, accidents, and casualties . . . exactly what had happened to Maddux’s own parents.
