Her Brooding Italian Boss (16 page)

Caught by surprise, she stumbled forward, falling against the chaise as the hand snuck around her waist, pulling her down, pulling her close.

‘Bonjour
,
chérie.’
His voice was low, gravelly with sleep and deeply, unmistakeably French. ‘If you wanted me to wake up you only had to ask.’

It was the shock, that was all. Otherwise she would have moved, called for help, disentangled herself from the strong arm anchoring her firmly against the bare chest. And she would never,
ever
have allowed his other hand to slip around her neck in an oddly sweet caress while he angled his mouth towards hers—would have moved away long before the hard mouth claimed hers in a distinctly unsleepy way.

It was definitely the shock keeping her paralysed under his touch—and she was definitely
not
leaning into the kiss, opening herself up to the pressure of his mouth on hers, the touch of his hand moving up her back, slipping round her ribcage, brushing against the swell of her breast.

Hang on, his hand was where?

Polly pulled away, jumping up off the chaise, resisting the urge to scrub the kiss off her tingling mouth.

Or to lean back down and let him claim her again.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Saying
au revoir
of course.’ He had shifted position and was leaning against the back of the chaise, his eyes skimming every inch of her until she wanted to wrap her arms around her torso, shielding herself from his insolent gaze.

‘Au revoir?’
Was she going mad? Where were the panicked apologies and the scuttling out of her office?

‘Of course.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘As you are dressed to leave I thought you were saying goodbye. But if it was more of a good morning...’ the smile widened ‘...even better.’

‘I am not saying
au revoir
or good morning or anything but
what on earth are you doing in my office and where are your clothes
?’

She hadn’t meant to tag on the last line but with the imprint of his hand still burning her back and the taste of him taunting her mouth she really needed to be looking at something other than what seemed like acres of taut, tanned bare flesh.

Surely now, now he would show some contrition, some shame. But no, he was what? Laughing? He was mad or drunk or both and she was going to call Security right now.

‘Of course, your office! Polly,
bonjour.
I am charmed to meet you.’

What? He knew her name? She took an instinctive step backwards as he slid off the chaise, as graceful as a panther, and took a step towards her, hand held out.

‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ She stepped back a little further, one hand groping for the phone ready to call for help.

‘I am so very sorry.’ He was smiling as if the whole situation were nothing but a huge joke. ‘I fell asleep here, last night, and was confused when you woke me.’ His eyes laughed at her, shamelessly. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve been awakened by a glass of water. I am Gabriel Beaufils, your new vice CEO. My friends call me Gabe. I hope you will too.’

No, that was no better, she was still looking at him as if he were an escaped convict. Not surprisingly, Gabe thought ruefully. What had he been thinking?

He hadn’t. He’d been dreaming, stuck in that hazy world between sleep and wakefulness when he’d felt a warm hand on his shoulder followed by the chill shock of the water and, confused, had thought it some kind of game. After three weeks of eighteen-hour days, making sure he was fully and firmly ensconced at Rafferty’s before the formidable Polly Rafferty returned, he wasn’t as switched on as he should be.

Well, his wake-up call had been brutal. It was bad enough from Polly’s point of view that he had been catapulted in without her say-so or knowledge—and a wake-up kiss probably wasn’t the wisest way to make a good impression. He needed to make up the lost ground, and fast.

He smiled at her, pouring as much winning charm into the smile as he could.

There was no answering smile, not even in her darkly shadowed eyes. The bruised circles were the only hint of tiredness even though she must have come straight here from the airport. Her dark gold hair was twisted up into a neat knot and her suit looked freshly laundered. Yet for all the business-style armour there was something oddly vulnerable in the blue eyes, the determined set of her almost too-slender frame.

‘Gabriel Beaufils?’ There was a hint of recognition in her voice. ‘You were working for Desmoulins?’

‘
Oui
, as Digital Director.’ He debated mentioning the tripling of profits in the proud old Parisian store’s web business but decided against it. Yet. That little but pertinent detail might come in handy and he didn’t want to play his hand too soon.

‘I don’t recall hiring a new vice CEO.’ There was nothing fragile in her voice. It was cold enough to freeze the water still dripping over his torso. ‘Even if I had, that doesn’t explain why you were sleeping in my office and appear to have mislaid your top.’

Nor why you kissed me
. She might not have said the words but they were implied, hung accusingly in the air.

No, better to forget about the kiss, delightful as it had been. Strange to think that the huge-eyed, fragile-looking woman opposite had responded so openly, so ardently, that she would taste of sweetness and spice.

Damn it, he was supposed to be forgetting about the kiss.

‘Polly,
je suis désolé
.’ This situation was not irredeemable no matter how it seemed right now. It wasn’t often that Gabe thought himself lucky to have three older sisters but right now they were a blessing; he was used to disapproving glares and turning the stickiest of situations right around.

‘I have been using this office until you returned—we didn’t know if you would want to take over your grandfather’s office or stay in here. But once again I was working too late and missed the last train back to Hopeford. It was easier to crash out on the couch rather than find a hotel so late. If I had known you were coming in this morning...’

He threw his hands out in a placatory gesture.

It didn’t work. If anything she looked even more suspicious. ‘Hopeford? Why would you be staying there?’

A sinking feeling hit Gabe. On a scale of one to ten this whole situation was hitting one hundred on the awkward chart. If she wasn’t happy about having a vice CEO she hadn’t handpicked then she was going to love having a strange houseguest!

‘Cat-feeding. Raff was worried Mr Simpkins would get lonely.’ He smiled as winningly as he could but there was no response from her.

Okay, charm wasn’t working, businesslike might. ‘I do have an apartment arranged,’ he explained. ‘But unfortunately, just before I was going to move in, the neighbour’s basement extension caused a massive subsidence in the whole street. I can quite easily go to a hotel if it’s a problem but as your house was empty and I was homeless...’ He shrugged. It had made perfect sense at the time.

Apparently not to Polly. ‘You’re staying in my
house
? Where is Raff? Why isn’t he there?’

‘He was in Jordan, now I think he’s in Australia but he should be back soon.’ It had been hard to keep up with the other Rafferty twin’s travels.

‘Australia? What on earth is he doing there?’ She sank down into the large chair behind her desk with an audible sigh of relief, probably worn out by the weight of all the questions she had fired at him. Gabe’s head was spinning from them all.

‘I thought Raff would wait until I got back before taking off again,’ Polly murmured, her voice so low that Gabe hardly caught her words.

If Gabriel had to narrow all his criticisms of his own family down to just one thing it would be the complete lack of respect for personal space—physically
and
mentally. Every thought, every feeling, every pain, every movement was up for general discussion, dissection and in the worst-case scenario culminating in a family conference.

His middle sister, Celine, would even video call in from New Zealand, unwilling to let a small matter like time zones and distance prevent her from getting her two centimes’ worth in.

The possibility of anybody in the Beaufils household not knowing the exact whereabouts of any member of their family at any given time was completely inconceivable. Sometimes Gabe suspected they had all been microchipped at birth. How could Polly Rafferty have no idea where her own twin brother was or what he was doing?

She looked up at him, the navy-blue eyes dark. ‘I think I might be more jet-lagged than I realised,’ she said slowly. ‘Let me get this straight. You are working, here, at Rafferty’s, as the vice CEO and living at Hopeford. In my house.’

‘Temporarily,’ Gabe clarified. ‘Your house, that is.’

She closed her eyes.

A knock at the door jolted her back to wakefulness, the eyes snapping open.

‘Yes?’

The door opened, followed a moment later by Rachel, who was carrying a large tray. She flickered a sympathetic glance over at Gabe and he couldn’t resist winking back.

‘Your coffee, Miss Rafferty.’ Rachel set the tray onto the desk and smiled at Gabe. ‘I brought your usual smoothie, Mr Beaufils,’ she said in a much lighter tone. ‘The chef has your muesli ready. I said you might prefer to eat it in the staff canteen this morning. Oh, and dry-cleaning has sent your clean shirt up. I’ll just take it through for you.’

‘
Merci
, Rachel.’

Polly had begun to pour her coffee but stopped mid flow, her eyes narrowed and fixed on her assistant.

‘You were aware that Mr Beaufils was here? In my office?’

‘Well, he often works late...’ Rachel said.

‘And you didn’t think to warn me?’

‘I...’

‘Tell Building Services I need to see them this morning. Mr Beaufils obviously needs his own sleeping and breakfasting area. Oh, and his own assistant. Get on to HR. We’ll discuss the rest later.’

‘Yes, Miss Rafferty.’ Rachel bobbed out with a sigh of relief, returning a second later with a crisply wrapped shirt, which she handed to Gabe before exiting the office and closing the door.

‘Nice girl, very competent.’ Gabe sauntered over to the tray and picked up his usual smoothie. It had taken a few days for the chef to get the mixture just right but it was pretty close to perfection now. He took it over to the chaise and sipped but could feel Polly’s eyes on him and looked over at her with a faintly enquiring smile.

‘Are you quite comfortable?’ she asked. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to ask for your muesli in here? Take a shower before getting dressed? How about a massage?’

He bit back a smile at the sarcastic tone in her voice. ‘A shower would be lovely, thank you.’ He downed the shake, feeling the cool liquid hit the back of his throat, the vitamins working their way into his system. ‘Don’t worry about showing me the way. I know my way around.’

‘Hold on.’ But she was too late, Gabriel Beaufils had disappeared into the cloakroom.

Polly jumped to her feet but came to a stop. She was hardly going to follow him into the shower, was she?

Not that he would mind—he’d probably just ask her to pass him the towel! After all he had no compunction about parading around her office half naked. No wonder Rachel was smitten. Smoothies and muesli indeed.

The phone on her desk blared. It was probably the kitchen wondering if Gabe wanted a lightly poached egg with his breakfast. Polly glared at it before pressing the speakerphone button.

‘Polly Rafferty.’

‘You’re home, then.’ Familiar grizzled, curt tones.

‘Hello, Grandfather. I hope you’re feeling better.’ He at least hadn’t expected her to go back to Hopeford before returning to work. But then Charles Rafferty had never actually taken a holiday—
his
bucket list probably read ‘spend more time in the office’.

Her grandfather merely grunted. ‘Hope you’re ready to get down to some serious work after your little holiday.’ Polly bit back the obvious retorts; it hadn’t been a holiday, she had left the company after barely taking a long weekend off in the last five years.

But what was the point? Words wouldn’t change him.

‘Have you met Beaufils yet?’

Polly couldn’t stop her eyes flicking towards the cloakroom door. ‘I’ve seen him,’ she said drily. ‘Confident young man.’

‘He’s Vincent’s boy, Gabriel. You know Chateau Beaufils of course, we’ve been their exclusive UK stockist for decades. He’s the only son.’

‘That doesn’t explain why he’s here.’ Her voice was sharper than she had intended.

She didn’t want her grandfather to know how much Gabe’s presence had shaken her.

‘Oh, he’s not here because of the vineyard although that’s a good connection of course. Man did some great things at Desmoulins, which is why I snapped him up. Thought he’d be good balance for you.’

‘Good balance for me?’ Polly wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Balance or replacement? If he couldn’t have Raff did her grandfather want this young man instead? Just how much did she have to do before he finally accepted her? ‘I really think I should have been consulted.’

‘No.’ Her grandfather’s answer was as sharp as it was unequivocal. ‘Vice CEO is a board decision. We need someone with different strengths from you, not someone you can ride roughshod over.’

Talk about the pot and the kettle. Polly glared at the phone.

‘He knows the European markets and is very, very strong digitally, so I want him in charge of all e-commerce. Oh, and Polly? It’s going to take a few weeks before his apartment is sound again. It won’t bother you to have him at yours until then? You barely spend any time there as it is.’

Despite her best intentions Polly found her attention wandering back to the moment she had first seen Gabe sprawled on her chaise. The line of his back, the strong leanness of him, the delicacy of that intricate tattoo spiralling up his spine.

Thank goodness her grandfather wasn’t here to see the flush on her cheeks.

Her first instinct was to demand they find Gabriel Beaufils alternative accommodation a long, long way from her house and home. And yet...it might be useful to keep him close. What was that they said about friends and enemies?