Читать книгу Out of Hours...Cinderella Secretary: The Italian Billionaire's Secretary Mistress / The Secretary's Scandalous Secret / The Boss's Inexperienced Secretary - Кэтти Уильямс, HELEN BROOKS, Cathy Williams - Страница 15

‘WELL, well, well—I see that you have decided to dress like the siren for the party tonight, piccola.’

Riccardo’s words were silken-soft but the look which accompanied them was anything but. The coal-dark glitter of his eyes moved provocatively over her face, the quick flick of his tongue over his lips reminding Angie of how they’d just spent the afternoon. Bringing back with aching clarity the slow, almost drugging quality of their love-making.

Angie shook her head, trying to clear her head of the memory. ‘But you bought me this dress, Riccardo,’ she protested, taking a proffered glass of Prosecco from the passing waitress. ‘And surely the whole point was to wear it?’ She glanced around at the other women, reassured to see that some were in gowns which made hers look positively demure. ‘Unless you’re saying that it’s unsuitable for the occasion.’

There was a pause. The only thing about it which was unsuitable was the fact that it reminded him just what lay beneath it. A nerve flickered at his temple. ‘You know very well that it’s suitable. In fact, you look more beautiful than any other woman in the room,’ he countered.

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Sì, cara,’ he said steadily. ‘I do. Now, you’d better come and meet my mother.’

‘I’d love to.’ But her cheeks pinkened at the unexpected compliment as she looked around. ‘Where’s the bride-to-be?’

With narrowed eyes, Riccardo checked out the room, his tone doing nothing to disguise his disapproval. ‘She still hasn’t shown.’

‘Oh, well—it’s the bride’s prerogative to be late.’

‘That’s not supposed to be until the wedding day,’ he returned acidly. ‘There’s still two days to go.’

‘And what about the groom?’

‘The Duca is standing over by the woman wearing diamonds.’

‘Every woman is wearing diamonds.’

He laughed. ‘He’s by the fireplace, but don’t stare, Angie—it’s rude.’

Angie didn’t need to stare—one quick glance was enough to surprise her so much that she stared down into the fizzing bubbles in her drink in an attempt to compose herself. Surely Floriana couldn’t be marrying him! She took a sip of the wine. The Duca was elegant, yes—but he must have been almost fifty, judging from the harsh lines on his face. And wasn’t that the hint of baldness at the crown of his head? He looked ancient in comparison to the beautiful young Italian girl.

She lifted her eyes to find a sudden coldness in Riccardo’s—as if daring her to make the obvious comment. But why should she? As he had reminded her earlier—it was none of her business. ‘Floriana’s a lucky girl,’ she said dutifully.

‘Yes,’ he agreed tersely. ‘She is. Now come and meet my mother.’

Angie was aware of eyes following them as they made their way across the crowded room—before stopping in front of the matriarch of the family.

‘Mamma, I told you that I was bringing Angie with me? And I believe you have spoken on the phone many times.’

Despite her elegant high heels, Riccardo’s mother was surprisingly small and terrifyingly elegant. Her figure was as neat as a young girl’s and she was clad in very obvious couture—a gleaming burgundy gown of heavy silk with a string of large, lustrous pearls around her neck. The two women shook hands and her black eyes looked Angie up and down with interest.

‘So we meet at last,’ she said, in perfect English. ‘The woman who makes my son’s life run like clockwork, or so he tells me.’

Angie blinked, slightly taken aback to hear another compliment and glad that Riccardo had gone over to talk to his brother—even though the two men were standing dominating the room, like a pair of dark and formidable statues. ‘It isn’t easy,’ she joked.

‘No, I can imagine,’ came the dry rejoinder and then Signora Castellari smiled as she looked her up and down. ‘And you look wonderful. I had no idea that your taste in clothes was quite so exquisite, my dear.’

There was an awkward pause as Angie tried not to flinch. What did she say? That it was a Christmas present from her son? Wouldn’t that seem like much too intimate a gift from boss to secretary, and might it not make his mother raise her eyebrows—possibly in disapproval?

‘Thank you,’ she said weakly.

‘At least I know that Riccardo must be compensating you adequately, if you can afford to dress that well.’

Angie nodded and raised her drink to lips which suddenly felt like stone as the elegant woman moved away to greet another guest, hoping that her face didn’t betray the terrible sense of distress that her innocent remark had provoked. Because Signora Castellari had said nothing untoward; not really. She thought that she was simply meeting her son’s long-time secretary—she wasn’t to realise that the secretary in question was also his lover, which made innocent remarks about financial compensation acutely embarrassing.

At that moment, there was a stir of expectation from the guests and everyone looked up towards a second staircase to see Floriana slowly descending the staircase with a girl by her side whose pale skin and unruly red curls marked her out from the mainly Mediterranean gathering. That must be the bridesmaid, thought Angie.

Floriana’s black dress was stark and her own hair was piled up into an elaborate creation on top of her head, fixed with small diamond pins. Round her neck were more diamonds—a veritable waterfall of glittering icy stones. She looked, Angie realised with a shock, like a mannequin. As if she were composed of wax instead of flesh and blood.

But then they were being called into dinner and, to Angie’s relief, Riccardo came to accompany her to the table. ‘Surely you can’t seat this many people all at once?’ she whispered.

‘Wait and see.’

The dining room—well, it was more of a hall—was absolutely beautiful, lit by hundreds of tall candles and scented rather overpoweringly with lilies. A single long table was draped in snowy linen and glittered with gold and crystal. Angie found herself seated next to a very sweet old man who had once spent a holiday in Brighton and who was eager to practise his English. On her other side was a teenage cousin of the groom who was clearly bored out of his mind and would rather have been somewhere else.

At the opposite end of the table and next to Riccardo’s mother she could see the Duca holding forth, with a morose-looking Floriana by his side. And on opposite sides sat the grim-faced Romano and the red-haired bridesmaid who seemed to spend the majority of the meal glaring at one another. What was their problem? Angie wondered as she lifted her napkin, thinking that this made her little sister’s pre-wedding party look like a match made in heaven.

Although delicious, the meal seemed to go on for ever, and if Angie was full up after the pasta course no one seemed to notice or to care whether she ate or not. She told herself she was glad Riccardo was sitting far away from her. Yet her feelings were at war with common sense—she ached for his touch, no matter how much she tried to tell herself that she was a stupid fool for wanting him.

Did she make those feelings apparent? Was that why when she looked up from her unwanted plate of sorbet to find herself caught in the crossfire of his gaze his black eyes seemed to mock her while his lips curved into a smile of sensual promise. Angie swallowed. He was so…so sure of himself, wasn’t he? So certain of her—that no matter what he said or did, she would still sink into his embrace whenever he snapped his fingers.

And you will, won’t you? Because despite all your little pep talks about no longer being a doormat, aren’t you secretly counting off the seconds until you can feel him in your arms again?

After dinner, there was dancing in a huge ballroom which had been decked out with garlands of scented blooms and shiny balloons in silver and gold. It seemed that every VIP and dignitary from miles around was attending and Angie told herself that of course Riccardo wouldn’t ask her to dance—and that even if he asked she would refuse. She would sweetly tell him to go and entertain his guests and not his employee. But she was wrong—on both counts. He did ask, and she didn’t refuse—because when it came to it, how could she? Not when her heart was racing with excitement and her skin tingling when he laid his hand on her bare arm.

‘Having a good time?’ he murmured as he pulled her against him, splaying his fingers over the buttery satin of her dress.

It wasn’t her role to spoil his fun and to tell him that she thought this was the strangest atmosphere she’d ever encountered at a pre-wedding party. And besides, those thoughts were fading from her mind already—eclipsed by the sheer pleasure of being in his arms again.

As they danced, sensations began to bombard her—wearing down a resistance which was already thin. She was aware of his own particular musky scent and the now familiar feel of his hard body against hers. Angie certainly wasn’t an accomplished dancer, but she didn’t need to be because Riccardo was guiding her around the dance-floor with a sure touch which made her feel positively graceful.

‘Mmm?’ he prompted, his lips close to her ears.

‘I’m…I’m having a great time,’ she answered truthfully, because in that moment she couldn’t think of a place she’d rather be.

‘Me, too.’ Tightening his hands around her waist, he looked down into her flushed face. Saw the way that her lips had parted. Noted the tiny pulse which hammered at the base of her throat. And suddenly he wanted to kiss her. Damn the ballroom, he thought. And damn the guests with their quick and curious eyes. Riccardo swallowed, pulling her even closer—wanting to demonstrate just how aroused she had made him. ‘I may just take you out for the day tomorrow,’ he added. ‘If you’re lucky.’

Angie’s heart missed a beat. If you’re lucky.

Maybe the words weren’t intended to be patronizing, but that was how they came across—or maybe it was because they were accompanied by the shameless thrust of his pelvis, so that she could feel the hard heat at the very cradle of him. It was nothing but a silent and arrogant sexual boast and it seemed to mock at her own romantic interpretation of the dance, making her feel stupid. Angie pulled back, ignoring the screaming objection of her body. ‘Sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll have to work tomorrow.’

He stared at her blankly. ‘Work?’

‘That’s what you supplied the laptop for, remember?’

He was in such a state of frustrated desire that she might as well have been speaking in Greek for all the sense he made of her words until his head cleared. ‘But you did that work this afternoon,’ he said quickly.

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘You didn’t?’

Angie allowed herself a serene smile. ‘No. I took a long bath and read a book instead, actually.’

A pulse began to flicker at his temple. Was this the beginning of rebellion—of Angie abusing her position simply because they’d become lovers? Why, in all the years of working for him she had never refused to carry out one of his orders. ‘That’s not what I wanted,’ he snapped.

‘Well, it’s what I wanted,’ she returned.

‘But I’m paying you to do what I want,’ he reminded her with silken cruelty.

‘No, you pay me to support you in a secretarial role.’ The words came out in a breathless rush, fuelled by a fury at what he’d just said and suddenly Angie didn’t care that they were in the middle of the dance-floor. Because wasn’t this long overdue? ‘Don’t you think I’ve done enough out-of-hours for you over the years to recognise when I deserve some time off, Riccardo? If you trust me enough to make me privy to all your confidential business dealings—then you should credit me with the judgement to decide when I want to ease off!’

There was a stunned kind of silence for a moment, and then he smiled. ‘Oh, cara,’ he murmured. ‘Your insubordination is such a turn-on that I can hardly wait until I get you into bed again. If only I’d realised that I had such a little wildcat hiding away all these years.’

‘Well, you’re the one who’s made me into a wildcat,’ she returned, without thinking.

‘Am I really? Then at least I have something to be grateful for.’ Trickling his thumb down over her hips in what felt like a proprietorial marking of his territory, he bent his mouth to her ear. ‘But you will forgive me if I leave you now. Much more of this on the dance-floor and I shall be dragging you off to the nearest alcove to peel off your panties and that really wouldn’t do, would it?’

And without another word, he turned and walked away and Angie was left staring after him with flaming cheeks and a hammering heart. Had he meant to drive home that her impact on him was purely physical? She felt faint, dizzy, and wondered how soon she could decently slip away from here—away from the eyes which she sensed were looking at her with open curiosity.

Distractedly, she went to the side of the ballroom and was just thinking about making her escape when she felt a tap on her shoulder and she turned to see Floriana standing there.

Up close, her mannequin-like appearance was even more apparent and Angie thought that the girl’s lips looked positively bloodless. Pushing thoughts of Riccardo out of her mind, Angie forced a smile. ‘Lovely party,’ she said.

‘Thank you.’ But Floriana’s smile didn’t meet her eyes. ‘Angie, would you like to come and see my wedding dress?’

‘Me?’ questioned Angie in surprise.

‘Please. You’d like to, wouldn’t you? I thought that all women liked wedding dresses.’

Telling herself she should feel flattered, Angie nodded. ‘Of course. I’d love to.’

‘Then come with me—but let’s be quick,’ the Italian girl urged. ‘Before Romano accuses me of neglecting my guests.’ Linking their arms as if they’d been lifelong friends, Floriana led her along one of the long corridors alongside the ballroom and which led to yet another staircase. At the top of the stairs was Floriana’s bedroom and as she pushed open the door Angie could see the gleam of ivory satin beneath Chantilly lace.

‘Oh, it’s beautiful,’ she exclaimed, walking over to where the gown hung, marvelling at the delicate fabric and thinking that this was the kind of wedding dress that little girls sometimes dreamed of. ‘Absolutely beautiful.’

‘Isn’t it?’ said Floriana, but her voice was flat as she shut the door and Angie turned round, her eyes narrowing with concern.

‘Floriana, is…is something wrong?’

There was a pause as the girl raked long olive fingers through her fringe, dislodging a diamond pin in the process but ignoring it as the precious clip clattered to the floor. And eventually, like someone who had finally thrown in the towel, she nodded. ‘I can’t marry Aldo,’ she breathed. ‘I just can’t do it!’

Realising that the girl was trembling, Angie walked over to her and put her arm round her shoulders, thinking how bony and birdlike they felt. ‘Listen—every bride gets nerves,’ she soothed, realising that she was echoing what Riccardo had told her. And you didn’t believe him, did you? ‘It’s perfectly natural.’

‘No!’ Distractedly, Floriana moved away. ‘It isn’t that, believe me. People keep telling me it’s nerves, but it’s not. I’ve allowed myself to get into a situation which should never have happened. I feel as if I’ve sleep-walked my way into a nightmare. Angie, I can’t go through with it!’

Angie stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘But why are you telling me all this?’

Dark brown eyes were fixed on her unwaveringly. ‘Because you are an outsider.’

Angie flinched.

‘And you must be a sensible woman to have been employed by Riccardo for all these years. You will not tell me what you think I should hear. You will tell me what I must do.’

‘That’s too big a responsibility,’ Angie protested, shaking her head.

‘Please.’

‘What about your brothers?’ questioned Angie. ‘Can’t you confide your fears in them?’

‘In them? You have to be joking. They are so keen for this marriage that I suspect they would march me down the aisle!’ said Floriana bitterly. ‘They are nothing but tyrants!’

There was a long pause while Angie considered what to say. But Angie knew she couldn’t look into the frightened eyes of a woman panicking on almost the eve of her wedding, and pretend that everything would be all right in the morning.

‘And does Aldo—the Duca—does he know how you feel?’

‘I’ve tried speaking to him but he will not listen,’ whispered Floriana. ‘His mind is set on this wedding. He would never allow it to be cancelled. Every time I say something it is as if I have not spoken at all. For I am his trophy bride—his innocent virgin—or so he thinks.’

Angie’s eyes narrowed with comprehension as she realised what Floriana had just told and its possible implications for the future. Was purity an essential factor in this marriage? Remembering what Riccardo had said about his own desire to marry a virgin, she supposed it was.

‘Are you afraid to go through with the wedding because you think that your sexual experience will disappoint your husband—is that it, Floriana? Because I’m sure if you explained—’

‘No.’ Floriana’s stark word interrupted her. ‘That is not the reason why. The reason is much more simple that that, Angie—you see…’ She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘I simply do not love him—not the way a woman should love the man she is about to marry.’

For a moment Angie said nothing—because what could she say? And yet—did the words come as a great surprise to her? No, of course not. You would need to be blind not to have noticed the lack of chemistry between the engaged couple. Gently, she placed her hand on the girl’s arm. ‘Then you must have the courage to tell him that,’ she whispered. ‘You must.’

Leaving Floriana sitting on the bed, Angie somehow managed to find her way back to her own bedroom without having to return to the party. Stripping off the red gown, she washed off all her make-up before climbing into bed, bone-tired now, the comfort of the soft bed soothing her troubled senses as she lay there worrying about the outcome of Floriana’s revelation.

Should she tell Riccardo? As she lay there in the darkness Floriana’s disconcerting words came flooding back to her. ‘They are so keen for this marriage that I suspect they would march me down the aisle!’

Would he really go that far? Somehow she doubted it. But would Romano?

Her mind buzzed uncomfortably but the long and emotional day had worn her out and she must have dozed off, because when she awoke it was to the sensation of a warm, naked male getting into bed beside her and then a mouth edging luxuriously over her breast.

‘Riccardo?’ she murmured sleepily.

‘Why, were you expecting someone else?’

‘I…oh!’

‘Oh, what, piccola?’

‘I must…’ Struggling against the blissful sensation of his tongue trailing a warm, sensual path over her bare skin, Angie’s hands moved up to his shoulders. ‘Riccardo—I must talk to you.’

‘Not now.’

‘But—’

‘I said, not now,’ he growled. ‘I have been wanting to do this all night.’

She told herself that there was no point in bringing up a contentious subject when it was past midnight and nothing could possibly be done. That she would tell him in the morning—in the cold clear light of day. But wasn’t some of her reasoning bound up in the fact that he was now kissing her, and she couldn’t prevent herself from sinking into that kiss? So that he became the central focus of her world and in that moment nothing outside it existed?

Dreamily, Angie tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him back as he began to make slow, sweet love to her—the feel of his body deep inside hers washing away everything except pleasure itself. Afterwards their lips stayed touching—locked in a lazy kind of kiss—and with a jolt Riccardo remembered back to earlier, when they were dancing. Thinking just how much he wanted to kiss her. Kiss her? In the darkness, his eyes snapped open. This was getting dangerous. Crazy.