The Italian's Unexpected Baby. Кейт Хьюит
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she was known as Dillard’s PA and a simple, serviceable dress would certainly have been adequate. Yet he hadn’t wanted to see his date in something resembling a bin bag. He hadn’t wanted to see Mia in it.
Still, he told himself, he needed to make the right impression tonight. The last thing he wanted was for people to look at him and think that an impostor had shown up along with his secretary. Because Alessandro had earned the right to be at the party, just as he’d earned the right to be sitting in the office. Just as he’d earned everything he had, fighting for it and winning it, time and time again, a man with a mission. A man who won.
A few minutes later Luca texted him that the stylist had arrived, and Alessandro rose to find Mia. She was at her desk, and as he came to stand behind her, glancing at the screen of her laptop, a cold wave of displeasure and shock rippled through him.
‘You’re working on your CV?’
She swivelled sharply in her chair, her eyes widening with alarm at the sight of him looking at the screen, but when she spoke her voice was cool. ‘For when I’m no longer useful.’
‘And that is not now.’ With one brisk movement Alessandro clicked the mouse to close the document, without saving any changes. Mia’s mouth compressed but she did not protest against his action. ‘The stylist is here. You may use my office.’
Mia’s eyes flashed and he wondered what she objected to—his dismissal of her dress, or his order for a new one? Or simply his manner, which was even more autocratic than usual, because it felt like the best defence against this irritating and inconvenient attraction that simmered beneath the surface, threatening to bubble up?
Even now he found himself sneaking looks at the tantalising vee of ivory skin visible at the all too modest neck of her blouse, and noting the soft curve of her jaw, and the way a wisp of golden hair had fallen against her cheek. He itched to tuck it behind her ear, let his fingers skim to her lobe, a prospect which was too bizarre to be entertained even for a second.
He didn’t want to do things like that. Ever. Relationships were not on his radar, and sex was nothing more than a physical urge to be sated like any other. He’d always been able to find women who were agreeable to his terms. More than agreeable, so why was he feeling this strange way about Mia James?
He wasn’t. Or at least he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let himself. Work was too important to risk for a moment’s satisfaction, even with someone as annoyingly beguiling as the woman in front of him.
‘Are you coming?’ he asked tersely, and she nodded, rising from her seat with unconscious elegance, following him with a graceful, long-legged stride. Alessandro found himself watching the gentle sway of her hips before he resolutely turned his gaze away.
A few minutes later the stylist arrived with a flurry of plastic-swathed hangers, an assistant behind her carrying several boxes and bags. Alessandro supervised their setting up before he decided to leave Mia to it.
‘Let me see your final choice,’ he instructed, and she arched one golden eyebrow.
‘To approve it?’
‘Of course.’ That was the point of this whole exercise, was it not? Still, he decided to temper his reply, for her benefit. ‘Thank you for attending to this matter.’
She pressed her lips together. ‘It’s not as if I had much choice.’
Alessandro frowned. ‘I’m offering you a dress. Is that so objectionable?’
‘It’s not the dress and you know it,’ she snapped, and surprisingly, he let out a laugh.
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘It’s your entire manner,’ she emphasised, and he nodded.
‘Yes, I realise,’ he said dryly. ‘So at least we’re in agreement about something.’
For the next few hours he found he could not concentrate on the business at hand, a fact which annoyed him as much as everything else about Mia James had done. What was it about the woman that got under his skin, burrowed deep inside? Was it simply her attractiveness, which was undeniable, or something else? The hint of defiance in the set of her shoulders, the surprising vulnerability he sensed beneath the surface? Why on earth did he care?
It was annoying. It was alarming. And it had to stop.
‘Mr Costa?’ The stylist’s fluttering voice interrupted his unruly thoughts; he’d been staring at his laptop screen for who knew how long? ‘Miss James has selected her dress and is ready for you to see it.’
‘Thank you.’ He rose and walked quickly to the office, steeling himself for whatever he was to see. Despite his best intention to remain utterly unmoved, he was still shocked by the sight of her, her slender body swathed in an ice-blue gown of ruched silk that hugged her figure before flaring out around her ankles in a decadent display of iridescent, shimmering material. Instead of back in a sedate clip, her hair was twisted into an elegant chignon. Diamonds sparkled at her ears and throat. She looked like a Norse goddess, an ice queen, everything about her coolly beautiful, icily intoxicating.
Desire crashed over him in an overwhelming wave, unexpected even now in its intensity and force. He wanted to pluck the diamond-tipped pins from her hair. He wanted to tug on the discreet zip in the back of her dress, and count the sharp knobs of her vertebrae, taste the smooth silkiness of her skin.
He wanted. And he never let himself want.
‘Well?’ Mia asked, her voice taut. ‘Will I pass?’
‘Yes,’ he answered after another beat of tense silence, barely managing to get the word out. ‘You’ll pass.’
She let out a huff of sound, turning away from him, and the stylist’s face fell a little bit at his damningly faint praise. Alessandro didn’t care. Already he was regretting his command to have Mia accompany him tonight. Already he was looking forward to it far more than he should.
‘I’ll go and change myself,’ he said when a few seconds had ticked by without anyone saying a word. ‘Be ready to leave in ten minutes.’
Mia nodded, not quite looking at him, and again Alessandro was captivated by the curve of her jaw, the hollow of her throat, the dip of her waist, each one begging to be explored and savoured. He turned away quickly, striding out of the office without another word.
The sooner this evening was over, the better. This desire he felt was inconvenient and overwhelming and very much unwanted. But, like everything else in his life, he would control it. It would just take a little more effort than he’d anticipated.
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