Читать книгу Modern Romance January 2020 Books 1-4 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 12

MIA STARED AT Alessandro’s determined, unyielding expression, registering the iron in his eyes, the laser-like focus of his gaze, and tried to make sense of his request.

‘Pardon?’ she finally said, wishing she didn’t feel wrong-footed by his invitation. She’d been doing her best to be the perfect, unflappable PA since he’d stormed into the office, practically vibrating with energy. At moments like this it felt like no more than a flimsy façade.

‘A charity gala at the Ritz,’ Alessandro clarified, his voice now very slightly edged with impatience, as if she wasn’t catching on quickly enough. ‘Many of Dillard’s clients will be there. I’m attending to reassure them of their assets’ safety. You will attend with me.’

A command, then, and one she couldn’t afford to disobey. Still, Mia’s mind whirled. She’d never attended such a highbrow function, and in what capacity? As his PA? As his date?

No, of course not. She was mad to think that way even for a second, and yet somehow the way he’d said ‘with me’ had felt…

Possessive. As if he were staking his claim on her, branding her with his words.

But of course that wasn’t what he meant. The prospect horrified her, and would undoubtedly horrify him even more. Alessandro Costa most certainly didn’t think of her like that. And she most certainly didn’t want him to.

But why did he need her at such an event? When she’d been Henry Dillard’s PA, she’d always had a quiet, unnoticeable presence. Invisible on purpose, gliding through the shadows. She’d attended the summer party, yes, but only as the organiser, slipping quietly behind the scenes, doing her best to be both indispensable and out of the way.

She’d never gone to any other of Henry’s many social functions—the balls and cocktail parties, fundraisers and expensive, boozy dinners in Michelin-starred restaurants. Of course she hadn’t.

‘I’m not sure…’ she began, and then stopped, because she wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. That she wasn’t the kind of person he should ask? That she didn’t normally go to these events? That she’d be out of her depth? All three, but the last thing she wanted to do was admit her weakness or unsuitability. Alessandro Costa seemed as if he was simply waiting for her to give him one good reason to fire her, and she was determined not to humour him in that regard.

‘You’re not sure…?’ he prompted, an edge to his voice, as if he was daring her.

Mia lifted her chin. ‘When is the gala?’

The tiniest smile quirked the corner of his mouth, electrifying her. The man was devastating already, but heaven help her if he smiled. His eyes turned to silver and Mia’s insides turned molten. She swallowed audibly and kept her chin up.

‘Seven o’clock.’

Mia’s mind raced. It was undoubtedly a black-tie event, formal wear absolutely necessary, and her only appropriate outfit was a basic and rather boring black cocktail dress, back at her flat in Wimbledon. It would take nearly an hour to get there, and then back again…

‘What is it?’ Alessandro demanded, now definitely starting to sound annoyed. ‘Why are you looking like this won’t be possible, when I can assure you it is?’

‘No reason,’ Mia said quickly. She’d manage. Somehow she’d manage. ‘I’ll be ready at seven.’

‘Six forty-five,’ Alessandro returned. ‘On the dot. I like to be punctual.’

Back at her desk Mia couldn’t concentrate on anything, not that there was very much for her to do. Like everyone else she was in limbo, waiting to find out how Alessandro Costa decided to handle his new acquisition, and whether they would have jobs come morning.

A few minutes after she’d left the office, Alessandro strode out of it, without sparing her a single glance. As he stepped into the lift, she tried not to notice how the expensive material of his suit stretched across his shoulders, or his dark hair gleamed blue-black in the light. She certainly wasn’t going to remember that twang of energy that she’d felt reverberate between them when she’d been standing close enough to inhale the heady scent of his aftershave. No, definitely not noticing any of those things. In fact, she decided, now was as good a time as any to go back to her flat and fetch her dress.

Her heart tumbled in her chest as she grabbed her handbag and headed out, half afraid of running into Alessandro and having to bear the brunt of his ire. It was lunchtime, so she had a reason to be leaving the office, but she still felt nervous about crossing or irritating him in any way. Her job, she acknowledged grimly, was in a very precarious place, no matter how useful she seemed to him at the moment.

An hour and a half later, Mia was breathlessly hurrying back into the office, her dress and shoes clutched in a bag to her chest. As the lift doors slid open, she stepped inside—and smack into Alessandro Costa.

The breath left her chest with a startling whoosh, and she would have stumbled had Alessandro not clamped his hands on her shoulders to steady her. For a heart-stopping second his nearness overwhelmed her, the heat and power rolling off him in intoxicating waves. Her mind blurred and then blanked, her palms flat on his very well-muscled chest, fingers stretching instinctively as if to feel more of him. She could not think of a single thing to say. She couldn’t even move, conscious only of his powerful, hard body so very near to hers. If she so much as swayed their hips would actually brush…

Then Alessandro released her, stepping back, his mouth compressed in a hard line as he raked her with a single, scathing glance. ‘Where have you been?’

‘I’m sorry, were you looking for me?’

‘I wanted the files on Dillard’s less impressive clients. Did you think I’d be satisfied with only the top ten?’ Even for him, he sounded on edge, his body taut with barely suppressed tension.

‘I’m sorry, I was at lunch.’

‘For an hour and a half?’

Mia shook her head, a flush fighting its way up her throat and across her face. She’d been afraid of this exact scenario, and now that it was a reality she couldn’t handle it. He was still standing so close, and every time she took a breath she inhaled the aroma of his aftershave, felt his heat. ‘No, of course not.’ She drew herself up, holding onto the last threads of her composure. She could do this. She needed to do this. ‘If you must know, I went back to my flat to find a dress to wear this evening. But I will have the other files to you shortly, I promise.’

Alessandro stared at her for another agonising moment before he gave a brief, terse nod. ‘Very well. I expect files on all the other clients within the hour. Exactly.’

Mia had no doubt he’d been timing her to the second. The man was a stickler for detail…among other things. Back at her desk she hung her dress up on the back of a door and hurried to amass the files Alessandro had demanded. She’d be hard-pressed to do it in an hour, but she was determined to show Alessandro she could.

Fingers flying, mind racing, she managed to assemble everything and jot down relevant notes, stepping into Henry’s—now Alessandro’s—office with one minute to spare. Alessandro glanced at his watch as she stepped through the doors, and then one of his faint smiles quirked his mouth for no more than a second, making her catch her breath.

Heaven help her.

‘Impressive,’ he said after a moment, sounding both amused and reluctantly admiring. ‘I didn’t think you could do it in an hour.’

‘You underestimate me, Mr Costa.’

His gaze lingered on her, and Mia felt her body start to tingle and hum. ‘Maybe I do,’ he murmured, and held out his hand for the files.

Mia handed them to him, and then took him through each one, making sure to sit on the other side of the desk as he’d requested before.

It was surely better for her to have a little distance between them; being near him had the troubling side-effect of short-circuiting her brain. She didn’t know whether it was his intimidating presence, his undeniable charisma, or the unavoidable fact of his outrageously good looks that turned her mind to slush, but something about him did, and that was definitely not a good reaction to have to her boss, or even to anyone. Mia never wanted another person to have any power over her—not physical, not emotional, and certainly not sensual. Just thinking about it made goose-pimples rise on her flesh. Alessandro certainly had the last one…if she let him.

‘Is there anything else you need?’ she asked once they’d gone through all the files, her body tense from holding herself apart and doing her utmost not to notice the powerful muscles of his forearms when he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves, or the stubble now glinting on the hard line of his jaw. No, she was definitely not noticing anything like that.

‘Yes,’ Alessandro told her shortly. ‘Show me your dress.’

Her mouth dropped open before she snapped it shut. ‘My…dress?’

‘Yes, your dress. I want to make sure it is suitable. As my companion, how you look is important.’

‘Your companion…’ Her mind spun emptily again. Surely he wasn’t suggesting…?

‘We are attending together,’ Alessandro clarified pointedly, as if to highlight the utter impossibility of whatever she might have been thinking. ‘You must be suitably attired. Now show me the dress.’

Wordlessly Mia rose from her seat. She had no idea what Alessandro Costa considered suitably attired, but she had a feeling her plain black cocktail dress, bought from the bargain rack, wasn’t going to be it. Unless he wanted her to be discreet, even invisible, as Henry Dillard had? As she was used to being from childhood, slipping in and out of the shadows, trying not to draw attention to herself, in case she provoked her father’s anger? Because in all truth she wasn’t sure she knew how to be anything else.

She grabbed the dress and returned to the office, holding it in front of her. ‘Will this do?’ she asked, unable to keep the faintest tremble from her voice. She’d never had her boss vet her clothing choices before, and she didn’t like it. She certainly didn’t like feeling controlled, even in as small a matter as this. She’d had enough of that in her life, and she didn’t want or need any more, not even by the boss whose good side she was trying to stay on.

‘You intended to wear that?’ Alessandro sounded both scandalised and completely derisive. ‘Did you want to be mistaken for one of the serving staff?’

Mia’s chin went up. ‘It’s perfectly appropriate.’

‘It’s perfectly dreadful, like something a junior secretary would wear to the office Christmas party.’

She had worn it to such a party, and so Mia did not deign to reply to his remark. Alessandro might be offensively blunt, but there was more perception and truth to his remarks than she wanted to acknowledge.

‘You can’t wear it,’ he stated. ‘You won’t.’

‘I don’t have anything else,’ Mia returned. ‘So if you wish for me to attend…’

‘Then I will make sure you do have something.’ He slid his phone out of his pocket. ‘I will not have you on my arm looking like Cinderella still in her rags.’

‘So you’ll be my fairy godmother?’ Mia quipped before she could attempt a more measured reply. What was it about this man that made her hackles rise, everything in her resist? Henry Dillard had certainly never made her respond like this, but then Henry Dillard had never spoken to her in such an arrogant, autocratic way. He’d been affably incompetent, content to let her organise everything.

Alessandro’s eyes gleamed like molten silver as his mouth quirked the tiniest bit, making her respond to him. Again. A very inconvenient response, when her stomach fizzed and her heart leapt. Mia was determined to ignore it. ‘Now, that is the first time anyone has called me that,’ he said, his mouth curving deeper, and Mia forced herself to look away.

Alessandro angled his body away from Mia as he spoke into the phone, asking for a personal stylist to be brought to the office immediately. His right-hand man, Luca, took the rather unexpected request in his stride.

Ending the call, Alessandro turned back to face Mia, trying not to notice the rise and fall of her chest with every agitated breath she took; clearly she didn’t like him deciding what she should wear, although she should be thankful he’d vetted her selection. That black bag of a dress looked cheap and boring and was hardly what he needed his companion for the evening to turn up in.

‘As your PA, I don’t see why I need to wear some fancy dress,’ Mia said, clearly striving to moderate her tone. ‘Or, in fact, why I need to attend this gala at all. It’s highly unusual…’

‘You need to attend because many of the guests there will be Dillard’s clients,’ Alessandro answered. ‘And you will know them better than I do. I require your knowledge in this matter.’

‘Still…’

‘And you need to wear a gown worthy of the occasion,’ Alessandro cut across her. He didn’t like her protestations; he was used to being obeyed instantly, and Mia James seemed not to have realised that.

‘The clients will know I’m Henry’s PA,’ she protested. ‘If I dress up like a proper guest, they’ll think I’m putting on airs—’

‘You are my PA now, and you are my guest,’ Alessandro returned. ‘You will wear an appropriate gown. I am sure there will be something you fancy from the selection provided.’ He gave her a quelling look. ‘Most women I know would be thrilled to have such an opportunity of choice.’

‘Somehow I don’t think I’m like most women you know,’ Mia returned tartly, making him smile.

‘That is very true. Even so, I would like you to pick a dress that is suitable.’

Mia nodded, setting her jaw, her eyes sparking like bits of blue ice. ‘Very well,’ she said, sounding far from pleased about the matter. Despite the difficulties of the situation, Alessandro would have thought she’d enjoy the opportunity to select a new gown.

‘The stylist will be here shortly,’ he told her. ‘Until then you may return to your work.’

With a brief, brisk nod Mia swivelled on her heel and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her with a firm click that was halfway to becoming a slam. It annoyed and amused Alessandro in equal measure. Normally he didn’t like people to oppose him; in fact, he hated any sign of disobedience or disrespect.

As he was a man of both drive and focus, work was a well-oiled machine and rebelliousness was inefficient as well as time-consuming. And, while Mia’s rebelliousness did annoy him, that contrary spark of defiance somehow…enflamed him.

The knowledge rested uncomfortably with him. He was attracted to her, he acknowledged starkly, and that was something he most certainly could and would control. There was no place for attraction within the workplace, and self-control had always been his personal creed, the way he lived his life. The way he stayed on top.

He would never, ever be like his mother, whose sorry life had been tossed on the waves of other people’s whims, her poverty and powerlessness making her constantly vulnerable, searching for love and meaning in shabby, shallow relationships.

Alessandro would never be like that…never at another person’s mercy…not even for the sake of a very inconvenient desire.

Still, he was uncomfortably aware of the simple fact of his attraction, as well as the realisation that his desire to see Mia attired in an appropriate gown was not quite as professional and expedient as he’d made it seem.

As she’d pointed out herself, 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.