The Italian's Virgin Acquisition. Michelle Conder
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memory, she gripped the tie and reached up, doing her best to ignore the dark stubble that lined his hard jaw. He was tall, well over six feet, and she had to rise onto her toes to position the knot in the centre of his throat. This close, she could feel his heat, and smell his potently male scent. It made her want to lean in and nuzzle against him, to breath it in more deeply.
Not that she would. She wasn’t a fool.
She noticed his tanned throat working as her fingers grazed his skin and she steadfastly refused to look at his face. ‘What kind of knot do you want?’ she asked, her voice husky and unlike the way it usually sounded.
‘What kind of knots can you do?’ His seemed deeper too, rougher.
‘All of them.’
‘All of them?’
Braving a quick glance upwards, she found that his eyes were heavy lidded as they met hers.
‘Just how many are there?’ he asked.
‘Eighteen that I know of.’
‘Eighteen.’ His eyes glittered down into hers. ‘Can you name them?’
‘Yes. Do you want me to?’
‘No.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘You’ve obviously done this before. Lucky guy.’
‘Mannequin.’ She adjusted the length of the tie and created a loop. ‘I dressed in-store mannequins part-time during high school.’
His lips twisted into a small smirk. ‘Lucky in-store mannequins.’
Poppy’s hand flattened against his chest as the tie slipped. She could feel his heart beating heavy and strong beneath his breastbone... Was that a shudder that just went through his big body?
All of a sudden she felt surrounded by his warmth, his deliciously male smell, and she had to swallow hard before speaking. ‘So, which one do you want?’ she asked thickly.
‘Just do a Windsor knot.’ The words seemed to rumble out of his chest.
‘That’s the one most men prefer,’ she said.
‘Are you calling me common, Miss Connolly?’
‘No.’ Poppy tugged a length of the tie through another loop, her heart beating twice as fast as usual. ‘It’s just that it’s the largest, and most men who wear neckties like to have a large knot.’
‘Most women probably like them to have a large knot as well.’ His voice was deep, his chest rising and falling evenly beneath her suddenly clumsy fingers. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’
Deciding not to take this conversation any further for fear that he might actually be flirting with her, and it was the last thing she wanted, she concentrated on finishing the knot. ‘I wouldn’t know, Mr Castiglione. I don’t date men who wear ties.’ In fact she didn’t date period.
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘Then what do they wear?’
‘Nothing. That is they...’ Blushing furiously she folded his collar into place. ‘There. All done.’
‘A word of advice, Miss Connolly,’ he began, waiting for her to look up at him before continuing. ‘If you do happen to get a job here, don’t ever hand me a call without first finding out who it is.’
Remembering how upset the woman on the end of the phone had been, Poppy pursed her lips. ‘Not even if the person is crying?’
‘Especially if the person is crying.’
Shaking her head Poppy wondered if he was really as ruthless and heartless as he was reputed to be. Of their own accord her eyes drifted to his mouth. His lips were firm and chiselled without seeming hard. Rumour also had it that he knew how to make a woman go wild in bed, and she wondered if his mouth would be rough or soft if she reached up and kissed him.
Instantly another fierce blush suffused her face as she registered the insanely inappropriate impulse, making her flustered. ‘Why were you holding my wrist before anyway?’ she asked belligerently. ‘When you were on the phone?’ He’d been stroking her skin so tenderly she could still feel the impression of his fingers against her skin.
‘I don’t really know.’ His gaze flitted over her face, his green eyes hot and hungry. Poppy blinked, unable to look away. She was used to men noticing her, finding her attractive even, but she wasn’t used to this answering heat rise up inside of her. She wasn’t used to this overwhelming urge to...
‘Scusa, Sebastiano, sono in anticipo?’
A deep, croaky voice intruded on the moment, startling Poppy out of her sensual haze.
HER BOSS WAS the first to step back and a floodgate of embarrassment rushed into Poppy’s face. For a moment she had forgotten they were boss and employee. Forgotten that she was now late to meet Simon, who would be starting to fret when she didn’t return when she said she would—a leftover issue from their childhood.
‘No, you’re not early, Nonno—in fact, you’re late,’ Sebastiano murmured, his eyes still on her. ‘Miss Connolly was just helping me fix my tie.’
Feeling as if she’d just had her hand caught in the cookie jar, Poppy turned to face a much older version of her handsome boss and tried to smile.
His dark-green eyes were warm and encompassing as they swept over her.
‘Nonno, this is Poppy Connolly. Poppy, this is my nonno, otherwise known as Signor Castiglione, or Giuseppe.’
‘Buongiorno, come stai? Pleased to meet you.’ His grandfather smiled broadly.
Still reeling from the shock of imagining how it would feel to kiss her boss—the owner of the company she at least needed a great reference from—Poppy murmured a greeting and wondered how rude it would be just to cut and run out the door.
About to suggest she do exactly that, her words were cut off when Sebastiano’s mobile phone rang.
Glancing at the screen, he scowled. ‘Nonno, scusa un momento.’
Poppy wondered if it was his teary ex-girlfriend again, but then realised that the poor woman probably didn’t have his private mobile number or she would have rung it earlier instead of his office phone. It probably demonstrated her level of importance in the scheme of his life. Which was low. She wondered what a temporary girlfriend warranted at the end of an affair with the virile Sebastiano Castiglione? Diamonds or sapphires?
Shaking herself out of such senseless ruminating about a man who no doubt intended to put her on the black list with HR, Poppy smiled at his grandfather and once more tried to salvage something of the situation. ‘Would you like a drink? Some coffee?’ She tried not to cringe as she offered that. ‘Or sparkling water?’ That would be much better. No stains from sparkling water.
‘No, no.’ Signor Castiglione smiled. ‘You relax.’ He took a seat in one of the bucket chairs opposite the large oak desk. ‘So, how long you know my grandson?’
‘Oh, not long. About five weeks.’ Or really, under an hour, if you counted face-to-face time.
‘Ah, va bene. He is very demanding, no? He needs a firm hand.’
The image of someone handling Sebastiano Castiglione with a firm hand made Poppy want to laugh. But she fully agreed. ‘Oh, absolutely.’
‘But you handle him, si?’
Ah, definitely not si! She might have tied his tie before, but just being that close to him had completely tied her insides up in knots. ‘I wouldn’t say that exactly,’ she hedged. ‘Your grandson is his own boss.’
‘Don’t let him get his own way all the