Кэтти Уильямс – Out of Hours...Cinderella Secretary: The Italian Billionaire's Secretary Mistress / The Secretary's Scandalous Secret / The Boss's Inexperienced Secretary (страница 15)

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.

‘I need…to freshen up,’ she said and on bare feet she walked unsteadily over to the bathroom which stood at the far end of the office suite. Once inside, she concentrated fiercely on pulling herself together—glad that Riccardo’s European sensibilities meant that he’d insisted on installing a bidet. But the act of touching herself where he had so recently touched her somehow made her feel more decadent still—and hot on the evocative memories of how he’d made her react came the tumbling feelings of insecurity.

Smelling now of spicy fragrant soap, she risked a look in the mirror—splashing cold water over her heated cheeks and raking her fingers back through the new haircut in an attempt to restore some order. But no sense of order could dampen down the tumult of her thoughts.

She half wondered if Riccardo might not have taken himself from the office during her absence—because wouldn’t that be easier for both of them? If he went away and then came back later as if nothing had happened. To pretend that such an angry and erotic encounter had never taken place. But he had not. He was still there—though thank heavens he had moved from the floor and had straightened his own clothes. Now he was leaning back against the giant desk, looking like a king surveying one of his lowly subjects as she walked back into the office with her head held determinedly high.

But she had just had sex with him, for heaven’s sake—the most unbelievably exciting sex she could have imagined. Sex that he had instigated and that she, so completely transfixed by him, had joyously participated in. So she was not going to act as if nothing had happened. It had—and she needed to know where she stood.

She drew in a deep breath. ‘So now what, Riccardo?’

From between narrowed eyes he regarded her. Or rather, he regarded the curve of her bottom since she was in the process of retrieving her shoes and putting them back on. And then she straightened up—and it was…amazing. He swallowed. Apart from the faint flush of pink to her cheeks and the extra-bright glitter to her eyes you wouldn’t think she had just been doing anything more taxing than taking dictation. And the memory of just how enthusiastically she had writhed beneath him made him begin to grow hard again. How could this damned mouse of a woman make him feel so horny?

His black eyes glittered. ‘You’re applying for other jobs. You don’t want to work for me any more.’

It was more a question of what she needed, rather than what she wanted. Because what she wanted from Riccardo he would never give her. He would never love her—and sex was simply a poor substitute. A very pleasurable substitute, it was true—but she knew that it would eat away at her if she allowed it to continue. And surely it would destroy her when it stopped…‘No,’ she lied. ‘I don’t.’

He smiled. And maybe that would be best for all concerned, in view of what had just happened. ‘Well, I have a proposition to put to you which I think will satisfy both of us,’ he said slowly.

Angie knew Riccardo well enough to sense danger. ‘Prop-proposition?’ she questioned.

‘You know that I’m travelling out to Tuscany for my sister’s wedding?’

‘Of course.’

His black eyes glittered. ‘Well, I want you to come with me.’

Confused, Angie stared at him. ‘You’re kidding?’

Riccardo allowed himself a slow smile. If she left his employment it would be a bore and an inconvenience—and he was intolerant of anything which spoiled the smooth running of his life. But he could cope with disruption. What he could most emphatically not cope with was the fact that his little Miss Mouse had been driving him crazy with desire and he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Like some invisible and persistent itch, she had burrowed beneath his skin. So that he’d found himself waking in the night—hot and hard as he imagined losing himself in that deceptively sweet body of hers.

Clearly, such a situation could not be allowed to continue—and once he lost his desire for her, then the working situation would become intolerable. And Riccardo knew there was only one sure way to lose an appetite—and that was to feed it! So he would have her. Take her. Glory in her beautiful body as many times as he wanted her. Then she could walk away—and they could both get on with their lives.

‘No,’ he said grimly. ‘I’m not kidding. I want you to come to Tuscany with me.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE did not want to go. She did not want to go. The words spun round and round in Angie’s head like a mantra. But words, no matter how fervently they were felt, didn’t change a thing. Not when you were up against the might and determination of Riccardo Castellari.

Angrily, Angie finished laying down the last neatly folded silk shirt and then slammed shut her suitcase, glancing down at her watch and realising with a fast-beating heart that Marco would be here with the car at any moment to take her to the airport. Her palms felt clammy and she felt slightly sick.

It was bribery.

Blackmail!

How dared Riccardo insist that she accompany him to Tuscany for his sister’s wedding? she had demanded to know, in that flushed and uncomfortable period after their passionate bout of office sex.

‘You will join me, ostensibly as my secretary,’ he had drawled. ‘But we both know that you’ll be fulfilling another role quite perfectly. As my mistress.’

‘But, Riccardo—’

‘No, say nothing more—for I will not countenance your objections. It is the perfect solution,’ he had mused. ‘My mother would not tolerate me bringing a lover into the house—but nobody need ever know that you are fulfilling a duel role so effectively, cara mia. You can provide me with sweet delight to distract me from all the stultifying details of the forthcoming wedding.’

‘But why, Riccardo?’ she had breathed. ‘I mean, why me?’

Almost impartially, he’d studied her and it was then that Angie had realised how cold a colour black could be—for his eyes had looked positively icy as they flicked over her distressed face.

‘Because you have unlocked a certain, inexplicable hunger in me, cara mia—and I see no reason not to feed that hunger until we are both satisfied. You have already decided to leave my employment, so lets make sure that when you do it is with no lasting regrets on either side.’

He had made it sound so impersonal—as if he were dealing with something rather than someone. Like a man who had just conducted an audacious boardroom coup. Defiance had reared its head. ‘And if I object?’

Arrogantly, he had pulled her towards him—brushing his lips over hers in an almost negligent kiss, which had soon had her shivering beneath it.

‘You won’t object,’ he had boasted softly. ‘You want me far too much to dare to object.’

She had tried. Oh, she had tried. Overriding her hungry body’s screaming protests, Angie had shaken her head and whispered no. And that was when clever Riccardo had played his trump card. If she agreed to the trip, he would let her leave his employment as soon as they returned to England.

‘But I don’t have a job to go to!’ she had objected.

‘What if I give you six months’ full salary—and we’ll call it a bonus for all your hard work?’

For a moment Angie had hesitated—some instinct making her feel uneasy about the deal. Was such an agreement wrong? And yet, wouldn’t she at least be able to preserve her sanity this way and didn’t she deserve some kind of bonus for all the hours she’d put in for him over the years? In the end, she had shrugged her shoulders and agreed and he had kissed her again, taunting her—telling her that her body could not deny how much she wanted him.

Picking up her suitcase, Angie stared in the mirror at her pale face and the set of her lips. It was true. She did want him—but her desire wasn’t straightforward, like his. Hers was complicated by feelings—intense feelings for him which wouldn’t seem to die, no matter how high-handed and hateful he could be. And surely she needed to work on herself—to try to cure herself of an unrequited love which could never have a happy ending.