Taught by the Tycoon by Shelli Stevens Page A

crinkled in amusement.
    “You will be fine, Dolcezza .”
    Before she could ask him to translate that last word to English, the door was opened by his driver, and Damiano climbed out first.
    He turned, offering his hand, and she curled her fingers around his and allowed herself to be helped from the car. The flash of a camera had her flinching, but it wasn’t too much of a surprise.
    Not only was Damiano the name behind the super popular Mantovani handbags and luxury goods, but he was also one of New York’s most eligible bachelors. The cameras always came out when he attended social events, and she was well used to them. Though only from the viewpoint of the shadows, not on his arm.
    His head dipped and he murmured near her ear, “We just have to pose for a few pictures on the carpet and then it will all be over. I promise the press will be more interested in what Beyoncé is wearing than you and I.”
    It hit her then that they were literally walking down a red carpet. This wasn’t just some casual party, but one of those major galas that paparazzi frequented to critique dresses and couples.
    Up ahead of them on the carpet she spotted Hollywood’s latest “It” actor, and her pulse quickened. Never had she felt more out of her element than she did now.
    “Keep smiling and just be natural.” Damiano placed his hand on the small of her back. “Here we go.”
    He stopped them a moment later in front of a line of cameras and the cameras went off in flurry.
    “Who’s your date for the evening, Mr. Mantovani?” one called out.
    “Who are you wearing, ma’am?” Another yelled.
    Damiano only answered the question about her dress, and then waited a moment more before leading them inside the building.
    “Not only did you survive, but you were perfect.” He led her into the open elevator straight ahead.
    She grimaced. “If by perfect you mean keeping my mouth shut and not fainting, then, thank you?”
    He laughed again. “You looked relaxed and beautiful.”
    “Well, I’m not really sure on either of those, but again, thank you.”
    The elevator stopped, and when the door opened the strings of an orchestra greeted her. As he moved them into the room, she took in her surroundings with a mixture of enchantment and dismay.
    Everywhere she looked men were in tuxedos and women were in designer gowns. Waiters carried around trays with champagne and little food bites to nibble on. As one went by, Damiano procured them each a flute of champagne and she took hers gratefully.
    She’d barely taken a sip when a stunning woman who appeared to be in her early fifties approached them.
    “Damiano, it’s simply been forever,” she gushed.
    All it took were those few words expelled on alcohol fumes, and the bright flushed cheeks, for Rachel to realize the woman was drunk.
    “Angela.” Damiano nodded. “A pleasure to see you again. Is your husband with you this evening?”
    “Oh he’s somewhere. No doubt trying to get lucky with one of the barely-legal Wall Street girls running around here tonight.”
    It was a struggle not to laugh, or show any reaction, but Rachel managed to keep her expression neutral as she took another a sip of her champagne.
    Damiano introduced them and she gave a murmur of hello and let them get back to their conversation. When the woman rushed off in a fume of alcohol to visit with someone else, Rachel couldn’t hold back her giggle.
    “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh,” she said, pressing her hand to her mouth to compose herself. “Who’s her husband?”
    He named some developer she’d never heard of and she gave a soft grunt.
    “Actually, this leads us into lesson three.” He leaned down and said in a stage whisper, “Never get completely drunk at these sort of events. You’ll be labeled for life as a lush like poor Angela there has been.”
    Rachel would have laughed, if a tingle of awareness weren’t racing through her with his nearness.
    “I’m not a big drinker,” she promised.