Out of Hours...Cinderella Secretary: The Italian Billionaire's Secretary Mistress / The Secretary's Scandalous Secret / The Boss's Inexperienced Secretary. HELEN BROOKS
Читать онлайн книгу.
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.’
‘And turn down the chance of a pay-off and early exit from your life?’ she challenged hotly.
‘Why, Angie,’ he murmured. ‘And here was me thinking that you were here because you couldn’t resist my body.’
Glaring at him, she glanced around. ‘Shh! Somebody might hear!’
He shrugged as he took the suitcase from her unprotesting fingers. ‘We’re speaking English,’ he remonstrated silkily. ‘And we’re in Italy—where men and women tend to be less uptight about such matters.’
‘Oh, how you twist things round to suit yourself!’ she retorted crossly. ‘One minute you’re advocating harsh rules that virgin women should marry older men—and the next minute you’re telling me that Italy is liberal about lovers.’
‘Ah, but that’s the difference between lovers and prospective marriage partners,’ he murmured flippantly.
Reinforcing her lowly status, the careless remark hurt more than it should have done and Angie dropped her passport into her handbag and zipped it up, determined to change the subject. ‘What did your sister say when she knew I was coming?’
‘She’s delighted—if a little distracted—but I guess that’s the prerogative of brides-to-be. Shall we go?’
Angie had half expected to see another chauffeur-driven car—since that was usually Riccardo’s preferred mode of transport—hoping that a third person might dilute some of the undeniable tension between the two of them. But her wish was not to be granted since an airport valet brought round a sleek, scarlet statement of a car which she realised that Riccardo was planning on driving himself. She swallowed. Just her and him. Alone together in a confined space, while her nerve endings were screaming out their heated response to his proximity.
Her pulse skittered as he pulled away from the kerb and the powerful car began heading out towards a line of mountains. Determinedly, she stared out of the window—afraid that he might read some of the conflict of emotions in her face. Or worse, the naked desire in her eyes.
Yet despite her misgivings, she soon began to relax a little—lulled by the sheer beauty of the green countryside which flashed past and by the smooth progress of the car.
‘It’s amazing,’ she said softly.
‘My driving, you mean?’
‘No.’ She laughed, in spite of her nerves. ‘The countryside. The country itself.’
‘But of course. It is the most beautiful country in the world,’ he said. ‘We have sleek cities and ancient villages. Stunning beaches and rich agriculture. Look up there and see the pure white marble which streaks the mountains like virgin snow, Angie. That is the same marble which Michelangelo used to fashion his David—which is the greatest sculpture in the world.’
She heard the pride and fervour which had deepened his voice—a side of Riccardo she’d never seen before, and one which was oddly stirring. Had she been naïve in hoping that prolonged exposure to this man might remove her longings for him? What if the reverse were true—her passion for him growing while Riccardo grew bored with her?
Surely here was a lesson to be learned. That she must protect her emotions at all costs. She felt the car swing off the main road and then turned to him as they bumped their way up a lonely little track and came to a halt. ‘This isn’t where you live,’ she said slowly as she heard the engine die.
‘No.’
The confusion in her voice was genuine. ‘Then what are we doing in the middle of—?’
‘This.’ He pulled her into his arms and stared down at her—a fierce dark blaze in his eyes. ‘What I’ve been wanting to do since I first saw you walk towards me at the airport with that misleading butter-wouldn’t-melt look on your face. To kiss you, Angie.’
It occurred to her that he could have kissed her back then—but maybe that would have been too public a display of affection for a secret mistress. People he knew might have been watching them and started asking questions; demanding answers. She was here as his sec-retary and the sex would be furtive—as if he were somehow ashamed of what he was doing.
‘I—’
‘Shh.’
His lips silenced her and all her objections were banished in that first sweet touch. She heard the low growl of appreciation he made and for a moment she luxuriated in the pleasure of being in Riccardo’s arms again. Of being able to tangle her fingers in the rich silk of his ebony hair and for his raw, musky scent to invade her nostrils like a welcome marauder. Desire flashed over her skin like sheet lightning.
‘Riccardo,’ she breathed.
‘Angie,’ he murmured back, briefly removing his lips from the soft petals of hers to stare down at her. ‘You’ve been driving me crazy with wanting, you know. It’s insane but I just can’t stop thinking about yesterday. About how we…how we…’ His fingertip seemed to be activated by memory as he began to trail it down over her cashmere coat. All the way down the thick barrier until he reached the hem, which sat primly over her knees.
She held her breath as the finger tiptoed underneath before he began sliding his hand slowly up over her thigh. Let him, she thought greedily. Let him touch me just for a minute and then I’ll stop him. She closed her eyes as the direction of his hand became more purposeful. Now it was skating even further upwards—tracing light erotic circles over each inner thigh and causing her to expel a breathless little gasp.
She could feel the stealthy and inexorable heat building. The responsive prickle of her breasts. The clamouring of sexual hunger which hadn’t featured in her life for so long that she’d almost forgotten it—and yet which Riccardo had activated and which now burned with a fierce flame inside her.
‘Riccardo!’ She caught his face between her hands as his fingers skated over the hot and aching core of her—the barrier of panties and tights doing nothing to lessen the growing hunger within her. Her throat felt constricted, her cheeks on fire—and then she realised that he was now pulling at the belt of her coat.
He wanted her here—in his car—down some little Tuscan track! His furtive secretary lover.
Her body screaming its protest, Angie wrenched herself out of his arms. ‘Stop it,’ she whispered from between lips which felt swollen to twice their normal size. ‘Stop it right now.’
A nerve worked at his temple. ‘You don’t want me to stop it.’
Maybe her body didn’t—but her dignity demanded it. Or did he think he was just going to erode that too with his sexual mastery—the way he had chipped away at her heart?
‘Oh, yes, I do.’ Ineffectually, she pushed at the hard wall of his chest. ‘Do you really want me to turn up at your house and to meet your family with my cheeks all flushed and my hair awry—making it perfectly obvious what we’ve just been doing?’
‘They won’t care what you look like,’ he snapped insultingly.
‘I find that very hard to believe,’ she returned, enjoying the outrage on his face as she dared to stand up to him. ‘And even if they don’t care—then I most certainly will. I’m here as your secretary, remember? And there’s a certain standard to maintain—a decorum—which I don’t intend to compromise with a quick fumble in your car!’
‘A quick fumble?’ he echoed, outraged.
‘Well, what would you call it?’
‘You do not think that such an experience would be pleasurable?’
‘N-no.’