The Italian's Virgin Acquisition. Michelle Conder
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her heated reaction.
Lust turned her knees to water. Lust and disbelief because, not only was this man her current boss, but he was listening to a woman—who she was now pretty certain was his girlfriend—sobbing on the end of the phone while caressing her!
Louse!
Annoyed that she had felt such pleasure given the circumstances, Poppy jerked her hand back, knocking over the coffee mug she had only moments ago set so carefully in front of him. Before either of them could react, the contents of the mug went flying over the desk, dark liquid splattering all over the front of her boss’s pristine white shirt.
Sebastiano let out an explosive round of Italian curse words that made Poppy blush even though she didn’t understand a single one of them.
She stared open-mouthed as he hung up his call, holding his sopping wet shirt away from his chest.
‘What the hell was that?’ he ground out, fury splitting the air between them.
‘I... You...’ Glancing around wildly, Poppy grabbed a wad of tissues from a side cabinet and started dabbing at his chest. When he held his hand up for her to stop, she noticed that drops had splashed down onto his crotch and, without thinking, she dabbed at the offending liquid only to have that hand manacle her wrist again. This time without the light stroking.
‘There’s a shirt hanging in the closet behind you. Get it.’
Glancing up into his irritated gaze, Poppy felt a fresh wave of heat fill her cheeks. The air seemed to thicken and crackle between them like heat shimmering off concrete on a hot day. ‘Yes, sorry. I...’
‘Any time today would be good,’ he growled.
‘Right,’ she stammered.
Even more annoyed with herself, she reached into his closet and ripped the clear plastic from a fresh shirt, not at all ready to turn around and find her boss shirtless and wiping his ripped, tanned abdomen with another wad of tissues.
Good God, the man had sheets of muscles layered on top of more muscles, and all of that bronzed, fit perfection was covered in a pelt of healthy dark hair that arrowed down...
‘I—You—’ She pointed to the vicinity of his torso. ‘You have a red mark on your chest. Do you want me to get some salve for it?’
‘No, I do not want you to do anything else,’ he bit out.
‘Okay.’ Poppy thrust the shirt at him, turning her burning face away, hoping he couldn’t hear her thundering heartbeat. ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered, her throat tight with embarrassment. ‘I don’t know what happened. I’m not usually so clumsy—really I’m not—but when you... I just... I’m really sorry.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ he bit out tersely.
Hearing the rustle of fabric, Poppy turned back to find him shoving the ends of his shirt into his trousers and swallowed hard. She wished she didn’t know what lay beneath that shirt because she couldn’t get the image of his toned torso out of her head. She watched, mute, as he straightened his cuffs and wound his red tie around his neck.
‘At least the coffee missed your tie,’ she offered.
His cutting glance told her more than words how little he thought of her comment. ‘Is that supposed to make up for you dousing me with coffee?’
‘I didn’t douse you,’ she said with a touch of asperity. ‘You were rubbing my wrist while breaking up with your girlfriend.’
‘And that made you spill coffee all over me?’
‘I didn’t do it deliberately,’ she said, secretly thinking that actually he deserved it. ‘Maybe you should be thankful it wasn’t hot.’
His implacable gaze held hers. ‘It was hot.’
Poppy bit her lip and watched with interest as he tussled with his tie. Cursing, he yanked it off and started over. Her lips twitched as her annoyance dissipated. There was something completely disarming about a man of his size and capability wrangling with an innocent strip of fabric. ‘Do you want me to help you with that?’
Once more he flicked her with his green gaze. ‘I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?’
She held her hands up in front of her. ‘Look—no coffee.’
Not even the trace of a smile crossed his sinful lips and she thought it such a shame that a man who was so good-looking should have no sense of humour.
Wondering if now might be the best moment for her to cut her losses she paused when he indicated to the computer open on his desk.
‘Can you use a Mac?’
Hesitating only briefly she marshalled her usually sunny nature and smiled at him. ‘Yes.’
‘I need a report printed off before my grandfather arrives for a meeting. Think you can handle it?’
Poppy moistened her dry lips. ‘Of course.’ She sat down in his chair and set her fingers on the keyboard. ‘What’s the name of the file?’
He leaned forward and she got a delicious whiff of sandalwood cologne. ‘If I knew that, intern, I’d already have it done, wouldn’t I?’
‘Oh, well, yes...’ When she realised how close he was behind her Poppy’s voice trailed off, her lips drying up again faster than a trickle of water in the Mojave Desert.
‘It’ll be something to do with Castiglione Europa, or CE for short,’ he growled.
Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach Poppy scanned the folders on the screen and didn’t see anything related to either of those. Then her eyes fell on an interesting one.
‘Are you getting married?’ she queried, peeking up at him.
‘No.’ He scowled. ‘Why would you ask that?’
‘No reason. Except Paula’s got a file called “Operation Marriage” but that’s probably got to do with the bet and not what you’re looking for.’
‘The what?’
Poppy told herself to shut up but knew by his thunderous expression that she was going to have to explain herself. ‘The bet,’ she said in an upbeat manner. ‘Even I’ve heard that your grandfather is encouraging you to settle down—and, well... some of the legal department have dubbed it “Operation Marriage”.’
His gaze turned flinty. ‘I see the office grapevine is alive and well, then. Why have I not heard it?’
‘Well, because the gossip is about you—obviously. But don’t worry. Nobody thinks you’ll do it.’
‘Good to know my staff know me well at least.’
Poppy shrugged, relieved that he didn’t seem annoyed by her revelation. ‘I take it by your reaction you can’t imagine anything worse than marriage?’
‘Death.’
Poppy’s smile grew at his grim tone. ‘Right. But I think it’s kind of sweet, actually. Your grandfather wanting you to find love.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’ He leaned over her. ‘Click on the folder. Now open that file.’ He pointed at the screen and Poppy had to force herself to focus on his instructions and not his steely arm brushing the outside of hers. ‘There. Send that report to print.’ He straightened away from the chair and cursed again.
Poppy glanced up to find him yanking his tie open again.
‘I do know how to tie a tie,’ she murmured.
His gaze told her he’d rather set his hair on fire than have her help him again.
‘Fine.’ His hands dropped to his sides and the two ends of the tie dangled down his lean body like twin arrows signalling paradise. ‘I’m all yours.’
Sure