Читать книгу Priceless: Bought for the Sicilian Billionaire's Bed / Bought: The Greek's Baby - Jennie Lucas - Страница 12

BUT the craziest thing of all was that Salvatore couldn’t get Jessica out of his mind—and the irony of this didn’t escape him. How could one short, bogus date have resulted in him thinking almost non-stop about his damned cleaner? Unable to shake from his mind the memory of her grey eyes, that pure skin and the decadent delight of those luscious breasts.

The light glinted on his razor as he stared in the mirror, his dark jaw half shaved and his blue eyes narrowed. Intellectually he recognised that her improbable attraction was because she had turned him down. He was used to women fawning. Plotting. Enticing and scheming. Why, it was not unknown for a woman to beg him to make love to her!

Jessica intrigued him because in a world where one thing was predictable—his effect on the opposite sex—the unexpected would always have the power to tantalise him.

So had she been playing games with him? Knowing that precisely the right button to press was not to let him press any buttons at all? To let him touch a little, but not too much. To give him a taste to whet his appetite but leave him hungering for more?

He went to his club and swam for an hour, had a breakfast meeting in a chandelier-lit room overlooking Hyde Park and took a conference call from an Australian banker before most of the world was awake. Yet still he was restless.

How could some plain and mousy little cleaner know how to handle any kind of man—but especially a man like him?

All day long he was distracted, though he was astute enough not to make any major decisions until her infernal perfume had left his senses. Some scent he was unfamiliar with—which had reminded him of springtime and softness and clung to his skin last night until he had viciously washed it off beneath the jets of a cold shower.

‘Maledizione!’ Damn her!

Giovanni Amato—an old friend from Sicily—was flying in from New York and Salvatore had arranged to meet him for dinner. Yet he found himself strangely relieved when Giovanni’s secretary rang to say his flight had been delayed, and that he was running late.

‘Get him to call me,’ Salvatore said to her. ‘We’ll change it to another night.’

As he slowly put the phone down Salvatore felt the stealthy beat of excitement combined with the strong tang of self-contempt. Surely you aren’t hanging around the office waiting to see whether that pale little nobody will dare show her face here tonight? he asked himself furiously.

But as he cleared his desk of paperwork he recognised that maybe he was. He glanced at his watch. That was if she was going to bother to turn up.

He had signed the last of a pile of letters and was just putting his gold pen down on the blotter when he heard the door click open behind him. Salvatore felt himself tense, though he didn’t move. He didn’t dare move. He hadn’t felt this kind of hot, instant lust for a woman for a long time and he wanted to prolong it—knowing that the second he turned round, his fantasy would crumble into dust. He would no longer be looking at the woman who had made him feel so deliciously hard all night, but at some mousey little office worker.

He swivelled the chair round to face her. ‘Hello, Jessica,’ he said softly.

Clutching her bucket and her mop, Jessica froze as she stared across the huge office in horror.

He was still here!

Despite her leaving his office until the last possible moment—until she was certain that he had gone—Salvatore Cardini was still at his desk, his icy blue eyes mocking her with memories of what had almost happened in his car last night! She bit down on her lip so hard that she risked cutting it and the hand which wasn’t holding onto the mop clenched into a tight fist by the side of her pink overall. Of all the nightmare situations, this had to be the very worst.

Hadn’t she hesitated about coming in here at all, tempted to phone Top Kleen and tell them she was sick? And hadn’t there been a tiny part of her which had wondered about leaving the agency altogether—to sign on with someone new? Someone who might not have a prestigious client like Cardini, but who would guarantee a peaceful working environment where she would be untroubled by ridiculous fantasies.

But Jessica had a strong work ethic, which made her baulk at such behaviour, as well as a stubborn streak of pride which insisted that she had done nothing wrong. Nothing to be ashamed of.

So where was that strong conviction now? Staring across the vast space, she could see the sardonic glint in Salvatore’s eyes. Her mouth as dry as parchment, she drank him in. His black hair, his broad shoulders and outline of that amazing hard body. The image of that same body pressing itself close into hers in the back seat of his car drifted tantalisingly into her mind and fiercely she tried to block it.

What the hell was she going to say to him when their last meeting had ended in a frozen silence?

Just act normally. As if nothing happened. Wipe it from your memory—as he has probably wiped it from his.

She cleared her throat. ‘Good evening …’ she hesitated. ‘… sir.’

Salvatore gave a slow, mocking smile. So they were back to ‘sir’, were they?

His eyes flicked over her. She was wearing the same pink overall which she always wore and her hair was almost completely concealed by the hideous pink scarf. Her face was bare of make-up and her grey eyes were wary, watchful. She looked exactly the same as she always did and yet something had changed.

In him?

Was it because he had kissed those bare lips and tangled his fingers in the glossy hair which now lay covered from his gaze that made him so acutely aware of her presence in a way he had never been before? Was it because he now knew the luscious curves and unexpected temptations of the body which lay beneath the unflattering garment?

‘Sleep well?’ he questioned softly.

Infuriatingly, Jessica blushed. No, of course she hadn’t slept well! She’d spent the entire night tossing and turning and bashing her pillow into shape and then getting up to make herself a cup of camomile tea, unable to get Salvatore out of her mind.

It had been the memory of his kiss which had troubled her more than anything. Because wasn’t it rather shaming that in all her twenty-three years—the one kiss which had sent her heart soaring was delivered by a man for whom she’d been nothing but a convenience?

She wondered if he was astute enough to notice how awful she looked. Wouldn’t the dark circles beneath her eyes show her to be lying if she claimed to have slumbered like a baby?

‘Not really, no,’ she answered briskly.

‘Me neither. I tossed and I turned all night.’ His lips lingered on the words as he leaned back in his chair and studied her. ‘But I guess that isn’t really surprising, is it, cara?’

She wished he wouldn’t dip his voice like that—as if he were dipping a rich, ripe strawberry into a bowl of thick, melted chocolate. And she wished he wouldn’t stare at her like that, either. As if it were his unalienable right to arrogantly appraise her, with the kind of slow scrutiny of a man performing an imaginary striptease. So just blank all his sensual allusions. Behave as you normally would and sooner or later he’ll tire of the game and leave you alone.

‘No, not surprising at all,’ she said, deliberately misunderstanding. She picked up a plastic bottle which appeared to show two lemons going into battle against an army of germs. ‘The food at dinner was very rich.’

‘But you hardly touched a thing all evening,’ he reminded her.

‘I’m amazed you noticed,’ said Jessica.

‘Oh, I noticed all right.’ His blue eyes gleamed with provocation. ‘Just as I noticed that Jeremy Kingston seemed to think you were the most fascinating thing to come into his life since his last tax break.’

‘Only because I asked him about fishing. He says he gets fed up with people always wanting to know which bank he’s taking over next.’

‘Are you aware that he’s one of the most powerful financiers in Europe?’ questioned Salvatore coolly.

‘No, of course I’m not,’ scoffed Jessica. ‘Finance not only doesn’t interest me—it also confuses the life out of me. Now, do you mind if I start working?’

He linked his long fingers together. ‘You don’t usually ask.’

She wasn’t usually remembering just what it felt like to have his lips all over her neck, his hands splayed over her silk-covered thighs. ‘So I don’t,’ she agreed tightly. ‘But under the circumstances, I thought I’d make an exception.’

Clutching her bucket, she walked across the office to the cloakroom, horribly and yet skin-tingling, aware that he was watching every step as she passed him, like a clever cat before it leapt onto a helpless little mouse. She reached for the tap. Hadn’t he called her a mouse last night? And wasn’t that an insult?

Salvatore could hear the sound of running water and he screwed his eyes together. He had been expecting—what? That she would have prettied herself up for him this evening? Flirted a little? Undone a few buttons and flaunted a little cleavage? Or acted in that deliberately coy way that women sometimes did, and which men could rarely resist, even when they knew they were being manipulated.

Yet here she was, behaving as if nothing had happened!

But nothing did happen, his aching body reminded him, and his natural sexual arrogance made his fists clench with anger that frustration imposed on him from such an unlikely source. Noiselessly, he rose from his desk and followed her into the cloakroom. ‘You don’t usually run away from me either, do you, Jessica?’

She turned round, her face flushed, heart-thumpingly aware of his proximity and the way that he seemed to dominate the space around them. Suddenly, her bravado seemed to have deserted her. ‘No, I don’t,’ she agreed unsteadily.

‘Just like you don’t usually stare at me all wide-eyed like that, as if I’m the big, bad wolf.’

Jessica attempted to make her face look normal—but how the hell did you do something like that when all you could think of was how utterly irresistible the man was? ‘Don’t I?’

He smiled, but it was a hard edged smile. ‘You know you don’t.’

He seemed to be deliberately misinterpreting the situation. Didn’t he have any inkling how difficult she was finding this? Didn’t he realise that she had feelings for him but was sensible enough to know that such feelings were totally inappropriate? Jessica frowned, but part of her felt a sudden sadness, too.

Usually they had an easy rapport, which sometimes happened when two people of completely different social standing came together. You sometimes heard about very rich men confiding in their driver, or a billionairess divulging all her secrets to the girl who painted her toenails. But it didn’t mean anything—not in the grand scheme of things.

Because such unlikely relationships only worked on the basis that both parties knew their place. That there were strict boundaries which neither should attempt to cross.

And so it had been with her and Salvatore—until last night. Last night they had broken the rules, big time. The taking her to dinner could have been classified as nothing but a minor transgression—but what had happened afterwards could not.

She couldn’t deny what she’d done—or nearly done. And although she had called a halt to that blissful bout of passion she couldn’t deny that her body had been crying out for him.

She looked at him. If she allowed herself to sink further into stupid fantasy, then her body could very easily start crying out for him right now. His black hair was ruffled, the bright blue eyes narrowed and the hard and autocratic line of his jaw was shadowed with new growth. He looked imposing and almost magisterial and a whole universe away from her. Standing here now, it seemed almost impossible to believe that they had briefly been so intimate.

Jessica knew that she had a choice—and the only sane one which lay open to her was not to rise to his teasing remarks or the sensual light which lurked in the depths of his sapphire eyes. He’s only playing with you, she told herself, and she knew she couldn’t afford to join in—neither financially, nor emotionally. That if she wanted to keep her job and carry on as before, then she had to forget the rapport they used to share. Forget everything except doing what she was paid to do, which was to clean his office.

‘I’d better get on with the floor,’ she said awkwardly, turning the hot tap on full and then jumping back as the red-hot water splashed onto her hand, and she gave a little yelp of pain. ‘Ouch!’

‘Sollecita!’ Salvatore made a clicking noise with his tongue as he walked over to her. ‘Here.’ And he calmly turned on the cold tap and held her flaming fingers beneath it.

The water was deliciously cool and soothing but his touch was even more unsettling than the stinging pain. Jessica tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her.

‘Leave it under the running water,’ he ordered. ‘I said, leave it, Jessica.’

She didn’t have the strength or the inclination to disobey him and yet this was just too odd. He was here, in the most inappropriate of settings, administering hasty first aid to her. She felt dizzy with shock and pleasure. Everything was all wrong and yet through all the confusion of her thoughts came the overwhelming sensation that she liked him touching her.

She swallowed. Of course she liked him touching her—who wouldn’t?

After a couple of minutes, he turned the hand over and examined it, tracing a light fingertip over the still-heated flesh. ‘I think you’ll live,’ he said softly.

The surprising gentleness of the contact was completely disarming, as was the sudden deepening of his voice.

‘It’s okay. I mean, I’m okay,’ she amended, trying to pull her hand away.

‘Maybe you are,’ he objected as he drew her towards the warmth of his body. ‘But I’m not.’

Her eyes opened wide, startled by pleasure and shock. ‘What … what are you doing?’

‘This,’ he said, his voice distorting savagely as he stared down into her pale face. ‘I have to do this.’

She knew he was going to kiss her—she could read it in the fractional dilation of his eyes. She could sense it in the sudden tension in his body and in the raw tang of masculine desire which made her forget everything she had vowed last night as she’d listened to the ticking of her bedside clock and waited for the alarm to ring. He was going to kiss her and, although she knew she should stop it, she could no more have stopped it than willed the earth to stop turning.

‘Salvatore …’ she whispered.

The ‘sir’ had gone once more, he thought, with grim satisfaction. ‘Sì,’ he agreed arrogantly, her breath warm against his lips. ‘That is my name.’

With a groan, he drove his mouth down on hers. She tasted sweet and minty, as if she had just brushed her teeth. Had she done that specially, hoping that he would kiss her? The thought that she had been anticipating this—wanting this—made him harder still.

He pulled her closer, his hands reaching down to cup her buttocks, and for the first time he appreciated how small she was. Positively tiny. In the car their bodies had been on a level, but now she seemed to slip into his arms and disappear into them, melding into his body like a pocket Venus.

Jessica clutched onto his shirt as his lips beguiled her, the palms of his hands skating with arrogant possession over her bottom. On and on his mouth continued to plunder hers until suddenly her knees threatened to give way—and perhaps he also sensed too that things were getting out of hand because he stopped kissing her, though he didn’t let her go. She gazed up at him uncertainly, in a daze.

His blue eyes looked almost black and his breathing was ragged and there was an odd kind of expression on his face, as though he liked what he was doing but despised it all at the same time.

‘We can’t stay here,’ he said flatly. ‘Come back to my apartment.’

Jessica swallowed. Stay focussed. Don’t behave like you’re expendable. You may have a lowly job but that doesn’t mean you don’t have pride. ‘No,’ she answered stubbornly. ‘I can’t.’

He shook his head impatiently. ‘Forget the cleaning for tonight.’

Jessica almost laughed. He thought that her refusal was solely about some loyalty to the dust levels in his office! Was that the only kind of thought he believed her capable of? ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

Salvatore stilled as he heard the note of determination which had crept into her voice. He had allowed her a token show of defiance last night—but she was trying his patience now. Was she daring to bargain with him?

‘What did you mean?’ he demanded dangerously.

But Jessica was not going to be bowed or bullied simply because he was in a position of authority. She lifted her chin up and stared at him. ‘You think I’m just going to come back with you to your flat and let you make love to me?’

‘Why, are you planning to go all demure on me when we both know that’s what you want, cara mia?’

Jessica took a step back, needing the space and looking at him with a kind of defiance. ‘Life isn’t just about doing what you want, Salvatore, it’s about doing what’s right, too.’

Dark eyebrows rose in haughty surprise. ‘Don’t tell me we’re going to start talking morals now?’

Jessica shook her head, hurt now, but impatient, too. ‘Is it because I clean your offices that you think you can just pick me up like an ornament and put me down again? Do you treat all women like that? No, of course you don’t! If I were someone else—you’d at least do me the courtesy of going through the motions of normal behaviour. You might ask me out to the theatre, or take me out to dinner. You might at least pretend that you’re interested in getting to know me as a person, rather than how quickly you can get me into your bed!’

Her breathing was all over the place and she stared at him with a boldness he had rarely seen directed at him, and certainly never by a woman.

‘Finished?’ he questioned.

Go on, then, thought Jessica. Sack me, and see if I care! ‘Yes,’ she said.

Salvatore’s lips twisted into an odd kind of smile. ‘I think I get the drift. You’re objecting not because I want to go to bed with you, but because I have not gone through the necessary rituals which society demands?’

‘Are you making fun of me?’

‘Not at all. For who am I to argue in the face of such a passionately put plea?’ Such passion boded well for the bedroom, he mused as he looked down at her flushed cheeks with some amusement. ‘What is it they say? The mouse who roared. Very well—I have heard you, my little mouse, and we shall play the games according to your rules.’ He glimmered her a mocking look. ‘So will you have dinner with me, Jessica?’

She swallowed. ‘As another pretend date, you mean?’

He shook his head and this time his tone was almost gentle. ‘No. As a real one this time.’

She was so taken aback that for a moment words completely failed her. ‘When?’

He gave a low laugh. ‘How about Tuesday?’

Jessica stared at him. How could he go from such urgency to a day which seemed ages away? ‘Tuesday?’ she questioned tentatively.

‘Sì, that is the first evening I have free. I’m flying to Rome for the weekend.’

‘Rome?’

‘Mmm. Ever been there?’

‘No. Never.’ She wanted to ask him who he was going to Rome with, but that was none of her business.

He moved a little closer and he could see the sudden wild darkening of her eyes, the instinctive way that her lips parted. He should kiss her now, take her here and have done with it—it wouldn’t be hard to overcome her coy reluctance.

Yet he had never been forced to wait. Nor to dance attention to a woman’s demands, and it was oddly exciting. Why not let her enjoy her brief moment of power while it lasted? Soon he would have her exactly where he wanted her. ‘So are you going to see me on Tuesday?’ he murmured.

‘Yes, I can do Tuesday,’ she whispered.

He stared down at her for one long moment, drifting a contemplative finger over the outline of her lips and feeling them tremble beneath his touch. He read her silent plea to have him kiss her once more, to seal the agreement in another traditional way—and with a brief, hard smile he turned away. Let her simmer. Let her wait as she had forced him to wait.

‘Until then, cara,’ he said softly.

And holding onto her stinging hand, Jessica was left weakly staring after him as he walked out of the room without another word.