Caught in the Billionaire's Embrace Read Free

eyes were the color of bittersweet chocolate, a brown so dark and so compelling that Della couldn’t tear her gaze away. Then she realized it wasn’t the depth or color of his eyes that so captivated her. It was her recognition of something in them that was at odds with his dazzling smile. A somberness, even sadness, that was unmistakable.
    The moment she identified it, however, a shadow fell over his eyes, almost as if he was aware of her understanding and didn’t want her to see too deeply into him.
    â€œWe’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said, his smile broadening.
    The humor in his tone surprised her, coming as it did on the heels of the shadows in his eyes. Even so, she couldn’t quite keep herself from smiling back. “It is a little odd, isn’t it?”
    â€œActually, I’m thinking of a different word.”
    Not sure that she wanted to know what it was, she heard herself ask anyway, “Oh?”
    â€œLucky,” he said immediately. “I was thinking it was lucky. ”
    She wasn’t sure what to say in response to that, so she held up her ticket and gestured toward her seat. She made sure to give the rose-laden chair between hers and his a meaningful inspection before saying, “If you don’t mind? That’s my seat.”
    For a minute, he only continued to gaze at her, his eyes revealing nothing now of what might be going through his head. Then, “Not at all,” he replied, sidestepping into the aisle to give her room to pass.
    When he did, she hastened to take her seat, immediately opening her program to read it before he had a chance to say anything that might start a conversation.
    He didn’t take the hint, however, and said as he returned to his seat, “How was your dinner?”
    Not looking up from the program, Della replied, “Lovely.”
    Her one-word response did nothing to dissuade him, either. “I ended up ordering the pheasant. It was amazing.”
    When Della only nodded silently without looking up from her program, he added, “You should try it next time you’re at Palumbo’s. I highly recommend it.”
    He was fishing. Trying to find out if she lived here in town the same way he had when he’d asked her why she’d never been to Palumbo’s. He was trying to gauge whether or not there was a chance the two of them might run into each other again, either by accident orby design. Even with a long-stemmed rose and mystery woman between them.
    â€œI’ll take it under advisement,” she told him. And returned to reading her program.
    But still, he didn’t take the hint. “You know, I don’t meet many people of my own generation who enjoy opera,” he said, trying a new tack. “Especially not enough to see it performed live. Or spring for box seats. You must really love it.”
    Della sighed inwardly, silently cursing him for the change of subject. That was a low blow. There was no way she could resist a conversation about her most favorite thing in the world.
    â€œI adore it, actually,” she said helplessly, letting the program fall open onto her lap.
    When she turned to look at him again, his expression made clear he was as delighted to be here as she was and that he felt every bit as passionately about opera. So passionately that his love for the medium had chased away the darkness that had clouded his eyes earlier. She realized now that they weren’t entirely brown. Flecks of gold wreathed the irises, making his eyes appear more faceted somehow, drawing her in even more deeply.
    â€œI’ve loved opera since I was a little girl,” she told him. “Our next-door neighbor was a huge fan and introduced me to all the classics.” She didn’t add that that was only because she could hear Mrs. Klosterman’s radio through the paper-thin walls of their tenement, or how Della had hung on every word of the announcer’s analysis of