The Italian Billionaire's Secretary Mistress (7 page)

With an effort, he forced his mind away from the pert thrust of her breasts and up to the shiny new haircut. Did he like it? It was difficult to judge because his head was now full of conflicting images which were jangling for his attention. Angie with her hair scraped back from her face in its usual stark, utilitarian style. Angie with her hair spread out all over the pillow. And now Angie with her hair all feathered around her chin and showcasing a remarkably long and slender neck. He gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘It’s okay.’

Suddenly Angie understood the meaning of the expression being damned with faint praise. So stop seeking it, she told herself fiercely. Act like you’d normally act—the way you used to before you spent the night with him. The trouble was although she could remember how—she wasn’t sure whether she was going to be able to accomplish it. She had been in love with him for so long, but had become an expert at hiding her feelings for him behind the easy working relationship they’d forged. But now it felt all skewed. Odd.

Now she knew the reality of Riccardo as a lover and it was the memories of
that
which dominated her thoughts. For how could you possibly keep your mind on his latest financial acquisition when you kept being reminded of the way his lips had whispered with a featherlight touch across your bare belly?

Remember how callous he was the morning after you slept with him, she told herself. Remember how your stupid heart was welling up with love for him and he took those feelings and crushed them beneath the heel of his arrogant Italian shoe.

‘I’m just going to make some coffee,’ she said.

‘I don’t want a cup of coffee.’

‘Well, I do.’ Tearing her eyes away from his piercing black gaze, she clattered around with the sophisticated coffee machine he’d insisted on installing when he’d first arrived—which produced coffee to rival the stuff served in the shop next door. But it wasn’t until she’d completed the task and put the cup on her desk that she realised he was still looking at her. And that there was no way she was going to be able to munch her way through the skinny blueberry muffin she’d brought in for breakfast. But neither could she ignore the accusatory stare which was lancing through her.

‘Is something wrong, Riccardo?’

‘I just wondered why you’d come to work looking as if you were going straight out to a party.’

Angie feigned outrage at the acid remark, though secretly she was pleased; more than pleased. So he’d noticed her clothes, had he? Good. And he disapproved of them, did he? Even better.

‘I don’t think that’s an accurate assessment of a simple woollen dress you’ve seen many times before, do you?’ she asked coolly.

Riccardo gave what sounded uncomfortably like a growl—though the sound wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as the sudden heavy aching at his groin. He was overreacting and it was time to stop it. He should be grateful that she’d had the sense not to play up—or want to talk about what had happened after the Christmas party. His mouth hardened. Even though her reasons for sharpening up her wardrobe were quite clear. Women could be so transparent. She thought he’d go right over there and rip it off, didn’t she? Thought he’d be laying her over the desk, and pulling down her…

‘Is something wrong, Riccardo?’

Uncomfortably, he snapped out of his erotic daydream. ‘Why?’

‘You’d just gone a rather peculiar colour, that’s all.’

His black eyes seared through her. Was she daring to
taunt
him? ‘Make me a coffee!’ he ordered.

‘But you just said—’

‘I don’t care what I
said
, Angie—just make me a coffee, will you—since that’s one of the things I pay you to do!’

Not for much longer, she thought furiously as she got up and walked over to the coffee machine.

She could feel his eyes burning into her as she clattered around and tried to stop her fingers from shaking. But when she placed the cup carefully in front of him, his hand snaked out to capture her wrist.

‘So are you enjoying a flirtation with that man?’ he demanded.

Pulse rocketing in instant response to his touch, she stared at him incredulously. As if she could even
look
at another man! ‘
Which
man?’

‘The one who owns the sandwich shop next door.’

For a moment she almost laughed until she realised that he was deadly serious. ‘Don’t be so absurd, Riccardo.’

His fingers tightened around her wrist. ‘But I saw you on my way into the office. Fluttering your eyelashes at him. Wiggling your hips in the way a woman does when she is aware of her own sexual power.’

And despite the ludicrous nature of his accusation, Angie could feel the urgent escalation of her heart and the now thready flutter of her pulse beneath his fingers. Could he feel it, too? she wondered. Was he as affected by her touch as she was by his? Quickly, she snatched her hand away—terrified at how quickly that brief, almost contemptuous contact could still make her melt with longing. ‘You’re being ridiculous!’

‘You think so? Yet I recognise all too well the signs of desire in a man.’ His gaze was steady, but inside he was angry. With himself, more than anyone—because she seemed to be showing a remarkable sangfroid he was far from feeling. He wanted to storm round to the other side of his desk and kiss her until she begged him to take her. He wanted to lose himself in her sweet softness one more time…Instead, he glared at her. ‘Who knows? Perhaps I am not the only recipient of your undeniably sweet favours.’

Angie stared at him in disbelief. And yet—could she blame him for making such an accusation? Hadn’t she just fallen into bed with him, with nothing in the way of real wooing? He wasn’t to know that there had only ever been one lover in her life, and that had been a bit of a disaster. ‘You…really…really think
that
, Riccardo?’

He didn’t know what to think; the rule-book seemed to have been torn up and flung out of the window during that inexplicably erotic night with her. And he was behaving in a way which was completely out of character. As if he cared
what
she did!

He shrugged. ‘It is none of my business what you do or who you associate with. You must have all the boyfriends you wish. You are a free agent.’ There was a pause. ‘As am I.’

And this hurt almost as much as anything else he had said—his precise words making it patently clear that their one night really
had
been one night. Well, she would not react. He would never know how much she cared for him. How much she
had
cared for him, she corrected herself silently.

‘I know that, Riccardo. And if you don’t mind—I’d prefer not to discuss what happened before Christmas. I thought we’d already decided that.’ Or rather, he had decided it. She gave him a thin smile. ‘It was unfortunate, yes—a mistake which should never be repeated—so the sooner it’s forgotten, the better. Don’t you agree?’

For a moment, he was completely taken aback. That was supposed to be
his
line.
He
was the one who erected boundaries in his relationships and other people were the ones who fell in with his wishes. And she was daring to call it a
mistake
?
A mistake to have spent the night in the arms of Riccardo Castellari!
For a moment he was tempted to go round there and take her in his arms and kiss her and
then
let her tell him it was a mistake. As if she could! But he did not need to prove his sexual power to anyone—least of all to himself. And wasn’t it easier this way? With Angie taking the whole episode in her stride—even if it
was
only an act and secretly she was longing for his kiss once more?

‘It’s forgotten. It is of no consequence,’ he drawled, with a careless shrug. ‘Now get me all the paperwork on the Posara account, would you? And after that I’d like you to organise a conference call with Zurich about the Close merger. Oh, and can you sort out a fitting for the suit I’m wearing to my sister’s wedding?’

‘My pleasure,’ she answered tightly as she walked over towards the filing cabinet.

For the rest of the day, they barely spoke—except when it was impossible not to—and Angie buried herself in her work, staying on late in the office after Riccardo had departed to get ready for some fancy black-tie dinner which was taking place at Somerset House, with its beautiful ice rink and views of the river.

Was he taking some other woman to it? she wondered jealously as sat poring over the job advertisements. Of course he was! As if a man like Riccardo Castellari would ever go to a do like that on his own.

She thought of the long journey home and the cold little apartment which awaited her. The day she’d just spent—trying her best to be professional but unable to ignore the tension which had been sizzling across the office between her and Riccardo, no matter how much they’d both kept their distance, circling round each other like two wary animals.

How could she bear to exist in that kind of atmosphere—while his imposing presence mocked her with the pleasures he had given her, which were destined never to be repeated? The simple answer was that she couldn’t.

Staring at the blank screen, Angie began composing a letter of application with a grim new determination.

‘W
OULD
you mind stepping into the office for a moment, Angie?’

Angie looked up to see the unfamiliar sight of her boss standing at the door of the staffroom—a place he rarely visited—and instantly there was a buzz of conversation as every single woman in the room sat up straight. She had been sitting chatting to Alicia because the rain was lashing down too hard to even think of going outside during her lunch-hour and she wasn’t expecting Riccardo back in the office until later on. His black hair was spattered with rain and so was his dark cashmere coat. And he had a look of pure, dark fury on his face that set off warning bells deep inside her.

She gave him a slightly uneasy smile—and gestured to her half-eaten sandwich. ‘Sure. Do you mind if I just—?’

‘Why don’t you bring it with you?’ he snapped. ‘I want to talk to you
now
.’

Angie flushed as she stood up, picking up the rest of her lunch and dropping it in the bin, trying to ignore the interested sympathy in Alicia’s eyes and the exchanged glances of the other secretaries. It was humiliating to be spoken to like that—especially in front of other people. And especially after she’d had to field so many embarrassing questions about what it had been like to have been given a lift home in Riccardo’s chauffeur-driven car after the Christmas party.

Ever since the new year, she had been given a crashcourse in evasion—she couldn’t bear to think of it as lying. But what else could she do other than giving fudging, half-truth replies to an impressionable young girl like Alicia? Coming out and admitting that she’d spent a passionate night with the boss was hardly portraying herself as the ideal role model to one of the junior staff, was it?

She followed Riccardo out of the staffroom, trying to keep up with his determined stride, but his long legs meant that he far outpaced her.

‘Is something wrong?’ she puffed, when finally they reached his penthouse office.

‘Shut the door,’ he said ominously.

Angie swallowed. ‘Riccardo—’

‘I said, shut the door.’

Hands trembling, she obeyed him, looking up at him with some inexplicable feeling of dread building inside her as he hung up his rain-spattered coat. ‘Has something happened?’ she questioned.

Black eyes flicked over her. At the way the fabric of her dress clung to her breasts. ‘Damned right it has.’

Her brow creased with anxiety. ‘Nothing to do with the family, I hope.’

He glared down at her. Wasn’t that just like Angie to worry about someone else? But now he found himself wondering how much of her supposedly soft nature had just been an act—concealing a person he was fast discovering he didn’t know at all. And maybe he didn’t. Because, if Riccardo was being honest, hadn’t the very macho side of his nature been slightly appalled at the ease with which Angie had switched from secretary to lover?

Hadn’t he put her in the category of women who would have been appalled that he should have made a pass at her—and primly shown him the door instead of welcoming him into her body with a passionate zeal which had rocked him. Furious with himself for a train of thoughts which was having predictable consequences on his body, he glared at her. ‘Don’t try and change the subject!’ he bit out.

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Tell me, Angie,’ he said, in a voice of soft danger, ‘were you ever going to get around to telling me that you’re planning on leaving?’

Heart scudding fast with panic, Angie stared at him, her mind working overtime. Yes, she’d sent off several job applications—but she hadn’t heard a whisper back from any of them. There certainly hadn’t been any intimation that anybody was currently taking up references about her suitability for any post. Why, she hadn’t even been shortlisted for any interviews!

‘Well, I’m
not
leaving—strictly speaking,’ she said. ‘I’m
thinking
about leaving and I’ve applied for a few jobs, but I haven’t got anything else to go to. I haven’t even been for an interview yet.’

‘You didn’t think,’ breathed Riccardo, trying to dampen down his anger—and his growing feeling of frustration, ‘that it might be polite to have given me some kind of warning about your plans—especially in view of the fact that you’ve worked for me for so long? Or didn’t you think I was owed that kind of courtesy?’

For a moment Angie had to struggle with the temptation to fling his accusation back in his face. She wondered what he’d say if she dared challenge
him
. Had he shown
her
anything in the way of courtesy when he’d hightailed it out of her apartment—looking as if she’d tainted him?

‘I
was
going to tell you!’

‘When?’

‘I was waiting to find the right time.’ She regarded him, knowing that when Riccardo was in this kind of spiky mood it was best to tread carefully. ‘How…how did you find out?’

‘How?’ He made an angry little noise, midway between a laugh and a snort. ‘Why, when one of my biggest rivals came up to me at a fancy dinner last night and asked me whether he thought he’d be in with a chance of getting his hands on the best secretary in the business.’

Angie flushed with pleasure. ‘But isn’t that a kind of compliment?’ she asked. ‘To you as well as to me?’

‘And how precisely do you work that out?’ he questioned silkily, wondering why her cheeks had gone so pink. Was there something else she wasn’t telling him? Had she enjoyed the chauffeur-driven ride home more than she’d let on? So much that she had seen a glimpse of a world she would like to inhabit—because wasn’t that what women did when they caught that first heady whiff of real wealth?

Had she perhaps reconciled herself to the fact that he knew her far too well to ever contemplate taking her as his lover? But that maybe with her new and inexplicable brand of sexuality—which had been kick-started by the red dress—she might now find a more receptive audience in another wealthy man. Did that explain the new haircut—and the way she seemed to have sexedup her wardrobe? His mouth hardened. ‘How is it flattering to me for everyone in the business world to be aware that you’re leaving—except for me? You know that at this end of the corporate world good secretaries are like gold dust!’

‘Exactly!’ said Angie. ‘It’s a reflected compliment. Don’t you see? He rates
me
and so therefore he is applauding
your
judgement!’

‘My ego isn’t so diminished that I need my worth to be reflected by my staff,’ came the cutting retort.

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘It was the “getting his hands” on you that made me rather concerned for your welfare and concerned about something else, too,’ he responded coolly. There was a pause as the black eyes drifted over her. ‘Have you been gossiping about our night together, Angie?’

Her colour heightened as the hateful sting behind his words pricked at her skin. ‘Of
course
I haven’t!’ she retorted.

‘Sure?’ he questioned mockingly. ‘You haven’t been boasting to the typing pool that you managed to get your clutches in the boss and that he’s a red-hot lover? Word gets around, you know—especially over something as sensational as that.’

That did it. Angie’s temper boiled over. Despite knowing that it was probably the most foolish response in the world, her indignation was so intense that she just couldn’t help herself.

‘You bastard!’ she shot at him, her hand flying to his face, hating him for making her feel like some gossipy little nobody who for one night only had bagged the big prize. ‘You think you’re so great, do you?’

But his reaction was lightning-sharp and he instantly deflected her intended strike with a swift and effortless capture—his hand wrapping around her tiny wrist as he hauled her up close to him. And that was dangerous. More than dangerous. She could feel the sheer heat which was emanating from his powerful body and she could feel its hard contours, too.

‘My greatness was never in any doubt,’ he hissed. ‘But don’t you think you’ve made me look a fool?’

‘Is that all you care about, you arrogant pig—your reputation?’

He gave a low laugh, knowing that with her carelessly insulting words she had sealed her fate. Their professional relationship was to all intents and purposes over—and thus there was no longer any need to deny himself what he wanted. What she wanted too, judging from the way her lips trembled and her eyes had widened into black pools he could have dived into. ‘No,
piccola
, that’s just where you’re wrong,’ he mocked softly. ‘You see, right now there are more immediate concerns on my mind than my professional reputation.’

And with that he drove his mouth down on hers in a hard, almost punishing kiss.

Angie tried to fight it. Tried to fight herself—but within seconds she knew that it was a battle she was destined to lose. Anger made her frantic and desire made her weak. And despite everything—Riccardo made her feel alive.
Alive.

‘Riccardo,’ she breathed against his seeking lips as she caught onto his broad shoulders as if they were a lifeline. As if he were the only solid object in her world and she needed to hold onto him. As if she needed to say his name aloud again to convince herself that he was real. ‘Oh, Riccardo.’

The unashamed emotion in her voice struck him in a way he had not expected and he went up in flames. He had spent the entire holiday season see-sawing between calming the pre-wedding nerves of his sister and remembering that stolen night with Angie. As the days had ticked away he had wondered whether it really could have happened. Whether he really could have
allowed
it to happen. And now, feeling her soft and supple body in his arms once more, he could see exactly how.

Lust—pure, potent and powerful—pumped through his veins like life-blood as his hand grasped a cashmerecovered breast and he felt it peak against the fine wool.

‘Oh,’ she breathed instantly, melting into his hard body—her fingers wrapping themselves around his neck, wanting him closer still. She made no protest when he pushed her to the floor, nor when he began to smooth his hands down the sides of her body—as if he were reacquainting himself with her, by touch alone. Instead, she felt her body rearing towards his—as if it had been conditioned to put as little space between the two of them as possible.

His lips moved to her neck. ‘You’re driving me crazy—do you know that?’

‘S-snap,’ she managed, through bone-dry lips.

He tried to tell himself that he shouldn’t be doing this—but hard on the heels of that one intrusive thought came another. Could he strip her bare? Was there time to have her lying naked on the floor of his office—her limbs splayed out with indolent abandon—so that he could feast his eyes on her pink and white softness while he made love to her one more blissful time?

No. This whole scenario was crazy enough—but that would be sheer madness. And what if someone came in? Urgently, Riccardo began to ruck up her dress. Nobody would dare to come in—not without knocking first. And in the meantime, he couldn’t wait any longer.

Angie shuddered as his lips moved from her neck to her jaw and then began to graze at her mouth—and as she responded hungrily to that tantalising, teasing kiss she could feel him begin to peel off her tights.

‘Should…should we be doing this?’ she managed.

‘Sì,’
he ground out, tossing the tights away and whispering his fingertip inside her panties so that she bucked.

‘Oh.’

‘Unzip me,’ he demanded unsteadily.

With infinite trembling care, Angie complied—dealing with the soft leather belt with dextrous skill and then carefully sliding down the zip and hearing him bite out his pleasure as she freed him. She had never made love like this before—with a frantic disregard for anything other than the urgent need to join together. So that clothes were merely a barrier to be removed as swiftly and as efficiently as possible.

‘Please, Riccardo,’ she begged as he began to slide her panties down over her knees.

‘Please what?’ he taunted, but he was having trouble putting on the condom, he was so aroused.

Her head fell back. ‘I’m not going to beg you,’ she slurred.

‘I’ll stop then, shall I?’ he demanded silkily.

Her eyes trembled open to find that the mocking challenge of his words was not matched by the opaque look of hunger in his black eyes—and suddenly Angie didn’t care about games, or power. All she cared about was him; but then she always had.

‘No, don’t stop,’ she whispered, and the words seemed to come straight from her heart. ‘Just make love to me.’

If he fundamentally disagreed with her choice of words—that there was little of love in this swift coupling—he was in no fit state to be able to articulate it. All he could do was thrust into her—as if driven by a force far stronger than his own will, or sense of reason. And all he could feel was her melting, welcoming tightness and the way she clung to him. The little sounds she made before he was forced to kiss silent her gasping orgasm—until his own made the world retreat, like the distant sound of people playing on the shoreline when you were swimming far out to sea.

It seemed to take for ever before he felt consciousness return—though it was probably only minutes—and for a moment Riccardo just registered all the sensations which were bathing his body in a warm glow. The feel of her warm breath fanning contentedly against his neck in small, even sighs. Her arms wrapped tightly around his back as if she never wanted to let him go. And her fading waves of pleasure pulsating softly against his manhood.

He felt her wriggle contentedly—and, with a reluctance which surprised him, slowly began to disentangle himself. ‘You’d better straighten your clothing,’ he said abruptly.

His harsh words shattered the dreamy thoughts she’d been having and Angie opened her eyes. If she had been hoping for passionate words to end such a passionate interlude, then it seemed she was to be badly disappointed. And there she had been—stupidly fantasising that Riccardo might actually care about her. How wrong could she be? As if a proud and patrician man could ever care about a woman who let him take her on the office floor with such careless abandon. Slowly, she sat up—still feeling dizzy and now slightly empty as she grabbed at her discarded tights, her cheeks flaming with shame.