Out of Hours...Cinderella Secretary

‘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 sexed-up 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 cashmere-covered 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 tight-ness 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.

‘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.

In the end, it was that thought which convinced her to agree with Riccardo’s outrageous plan. She only knew the man she saw most days in the office—in his guise as highly successful businessman. She’d never seen him wearing anything other than a suit—or nothing at all. But surely if she was with him for a whole week—then she would see him for what he really was. An arrogant man with many flaws who was undeserving of her love.

She prayed that would be the case—because the alternative was terrifying. And what she couldn’t bear would be the thought that she might become one of those sad women who carried a torch for someone who didn’t care. The kind of woman who wasted her life, pining for someone who never even gave them another thought.

Her doorbell rang. Angie gave one last, nervous flick of her hair. That would be Marco. Riccardo had flown out to Tuscany yesterday afternoon—so at least she would be spared travelling with him. But she still had Marco to face. She hadn’t seen Riccardo’s driver since he had dropped his boss off after the Christmas party, when he must have sat outside her apartment for ages before deciding that his boss was there for the night. And she liked the driver—she didn’t want him thinking of her as some kind of loose woman.

‘How long does the journey take, Marco?’ she asked him, once her suitcase had been installed in the capacious boot and they were speeding towards the airport.

‘Should be there in just under the hour, signorina— the roads are quite clear,’ replied the Italian, his equable tone temporarily setting Angie’s mind at rest. It didn’t sound as if he was judging her, she thought cautiously.

Angie had never travelled first class before—in fact, her whole flying experience had been a couple of package holidays to Spain. But in the event, it was wasted on her. She poked uninterestedly at the deli-cious slices of rare roast beef which the stewardess carved for her; she even failed to be tempted by the chocolate mousse. Her stomach was too tied up in knots to face eating—though she did drink a glass of champagne which, for a while at least, gave her a little courage at the thought of facing Riccardo again.

But her nerve nearly failed her when she walked through and saw him standing at the far end of the arrivals hall, waiting for her. A Riccardo who wasn’t wearing his habitual, perfectly tailored suit. A much more casual and relaxed Riccardo and one she wasn’t quite sure she recognised.

As she approached her eyes couldn’t help drinking him in—even though she kept trying to tell herself that he was a cruel man to have insisted on her presence here as his mistress. After years of loyal service couldn’t he have just let her go with some dignity—and let her quietly fade into the background?

But his dazzling appearance eclipsed the troubled nature of her thoughts. He was wearing jeans—black jeans which clung to every lean sinew, emphasising the powerful thrust of his thighs and reminding her of things she would much rather forget. A dark sweater and soft leather jacket completed the buccaneer image—his black hair was ruffled and the olive skin glowed with life and health. But despite the outwardly relaxed appearance, nothing could disguise the hungry gleam which sparked his black eyes as she grew closer.

His gaze raked over her with predatory insolence and just for a moment Angie allowed herself to marvel at the fact that he really did seem to desire her very much indeed. He, Riccardo Castellari—billionaire tycoon—desired her—his plain little secretary. Hadn’t he told her that himself—even if he had tempered the words by shaking his dark hair in disbelief, as if such a thing was incredible.

But it was incredible, wasn’t it? Here she was, ordinary Angie Patterson—walking across the shiny floor of the arrivals lounge towards the man who was dominating the attention of just about every other person in the place. Shouldn’t she just try to enjoy it?

Lie back and enjoy it? mocked the voice of her conscience.

I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, she told herself fiercely. I’m a single woman and he’s a single man and we’re hurting no one. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin and walked up to him in her new high-heeled boots.

‘Hello, Angie,’ he murmured, and gave her a slow, lazy smile.

Angie’s heart leapt—until she told herself to read nothing special into the fact that his black eyes had momentarily softened. Of course they had. What man’s wouldn’t have felt a moment of fleeting affection for a woman when she’d had her legs wrapped round his back on the floor of his office yesterday? And that was the sole reason she was here today—so he could repeat the erotic exercise as often as possible. But that didn’t mean Riccardo had suddenly acquired a deeper, more significant way of looking at her. That was all in her head.

‘Hello, Riccardo,’ she said, her voice coolly polite.

He observed her demeanour with a mocking smile. ‘So you have brought a little of the English frost with you, is that it?’

‘What did you expect—that I’d be leaping for joy having been blackmailed out here?’

‘Don’t be melodramatic, piccola—you could have easily stayed at home.’