The Italian's Unexpected Baby / Secrets Of His Forbidden Cinderella. Кейт Хьюит
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don’t think you are.’
‘You’ve changed your mind?’ He’d meant to sound offhand and failed.
‘I think you like to present yourself as someone hardened and ruthless,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s the right image for someone who specialises in corporate takeovers, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose.’ What else could he say? She saw too much already.
‘I wonder who you really are,’ she murmured. ‘I wonder what you’re hiding.’ Alessandro stared at her, unable to look away. He felt a tug low in his belly, pulling him towards her. She wanted to know him. It was beguiling, alarming. Nobody knew him, not like that.
‘Let’s dance,’ he said, his voice roughened with emotion. When they danced, they wouldn’t talk. She wouldn’t say things or see inside him. He would make sure of it.
Wordlessly Mia nodded, and after depositing their empty champagne flutes on a nearby table, Alessandro took her by the hand and led her to the ballroom’s parquet dance floor. The music was a slow, sensuous piece, the sonorous wail of a saxophone wrapping its lonely notes around them as Alessandro took her into his arms.
Her hips bumped his gently and heat flared white-hot, making his hands tense on hers before he deliberately relaxed his grip and began to move her around the floor.
She was elegant in his arms, matching the rhythm of his movements, her hips swaying, her body lithe. Lithe and eager. He felt her tremble and knew, like him, she felt this most inconvenient and heady desire, growing stronger with every second they swayed together. The realisation only stoked his own.
Sex, for him, had always been a matter of expediency, a physical need to be met like any other—food, water, sleep, sex. That was how he’d viewed it. Something to be ticked off, the same as he would with a physical workout or a medical examination.
This felt different. More. This desire, twining through him like some dangerous vine, felt capable of overwhelming him. Overtaking the rational thought, common sense and, far worse, the self-control that were the touchstones of his life, the anchors of his soul. And the most alarming part was, in this moment he didn’t even think he cared.
The pressures of overseeing the takeover, the twenty-hour work days and the ceaseless striving, for years now, decades…in this moment he sloughed it all off like an old skin, let it slither about him in dead, dried peels, as desire birthed him anew.
The song ended and another started, and still they kept dancing. He pulled her closer, so her body nestled into his. She came willingly, twining her arms around his neck, her breasts brushing his chest. Her head was slightly bowed, so he could see the delicate, vulnerable curve of her neck and he had the nearly irresistible urge to press his lips there, against the skin he knew would be warm and soft and silky.
They twirled around again, and she shifted in his arms, the material of her dress rustling and sliding, pulling taut across her breasts, revealing the pure line of her collarbone. He could press his lips there too.
He could do it, and in the haze of his desire, as well as his exhaustion and the champagne he had drunk, he couldn’t remember a single reason not to.
The music swelled and the world around him fell away. There was nothing but this. Her. They turned again, her dress flaring out from her ankles, brushing his legs.
Some last, desperate part of him tried to claw back his sanity, his sense. This was a bad idea. A terrible, terrible idea. Mia James worked for him, and he never mixed business with pleasure. Ever. It was far too dangerous. The last thing he needed was a woman at work laying claim to any part of him, or, heaven forbid, accusing him of something.
But there was nothing accusatory in the way Mia was melting into him, her body pliant and willing in his arms. Then she lifted her head, tilting her face upwards, her gaze clashing and then tangling with his.
It felt as if they shared an entire conversation in that silent gaze, a shared yearning and a deeper need, a question and an answer, all encapsulated in a single, burning glance.
Neither of them said a word, but Alessandro felt a shudder run through her as he held her in his arms. The last part of his sanity trickled away. He didn’t care.
He didn’t care.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, his voice rough with need.
‘Where?’ Even with her in his arms, he strained to hear her breathy whisper.
‘Anywhere.’
Her eyes widened, her lips parting. She swallowed, and he waited for her answer, the one she’d already given in the silent yearning of her gaze. The song ended, and their bodies stilled. Still Alessandro waited, his breath held, his body taut.
Then wordlessly, her eyes wide, Mia nodded.
Alessandro didn’t wait for more. Taking her by the hand, he led her from the dance floor and out of the ballroom, out of the hotel, into the warm spring night.
THE COOL NIGHT air felt like a slap on her face as Mia left the hotel, Alessandro clasping her hand tightly. It felt like an urgent and much-needed wake-up call.
What on earth was she doing?
What madness had possessed her up there in the ballroom, with the music and the champagne and the slow sway of Alessandro’s body in rhythm with hers?
A limousine pulled up to the kerb; Alessandro must have texted his driver while she’d been in this heady daze of desire, a fog that had wrapped her up in its sensuous, blinding warmth, making her immune to everything, including her own common sense. Wordlessly he opened the door and ushered her into the sumptuous leather interior.
Mia slid to the far side of the limo, shivering slightly in the still cool air, despite the sudden blast of warmth from the heater. Now that she was no longer in Alessandro’s arms, in that strange, suspended, otherworldly reality…she realised there was no way she could go anywhere or do anything with Alessandro Costa. No matter how she felt. No matter what she’d wanted.
Already she cursed herself for having danced with him at all, swaying in his arms, moving closer, falling under his sensual spell.
What had she been thinking? He was her boss, and not a particularly pleasant boss at that, even if she now questioned whether he was as ruthless as he’d been rumoured to be.
Even so, getting involved with him in any capacity would be a serious, serious mistake, and one she had never intended on making with anyone. She sneaked a glance at his harsh profile, wondering what he was thinking, now that they were away from the ball, the music and champagne. Was he having second thoughts as she was? Regrets?
‘Where…?’ Her voice came out scratchy and she licked her lips. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Back to the office.’ Alessandro spoke tersely, and when he turned to her there was something hard and resolute in his face, and his eyes looked dark and flat. Looking at him, taking in that unyielding expression, Mia felt chilled. Clearly he was having second thoughts as well, a thought that should bring sweet, sweet relief, but instead she felt disappointed.
Stupid, stupid.
They rode in silence to the Dillard building in Mayfair, the night a blur of dark sky and city lights all around them. The air in the back of the limo felt taut with tension, and Mia let out a quiet sigh of relief when the limo finally pulled up in front of the office.
‘I need to get my things,’ she murmured. She’d left her work clothes, coat, and handbag at the office, an oversight she hadn’t even considered when she’d been dazzled by being the belle of the ball. The party was well and truly over now, the clock striking midnight, everything turning back to the way it was. There seemed to be