Читать книгу Unwordly Secretary, Gorgeous Boss - Lee Wilkinson, Jennie Adams - Страница 12

‘LAURA? This is my good friend Dante Pasolini. He has brought some gowns for you to try on.’

Persuading Laura away from work this morning had not been easy, Fabian found. Certainly her dedication and conscientious approach to the task in hand was not to be faulted, yet he could hardly suppress the impatience that arose inside him at her reluctance to even look at the beautiful dresses that Dante had selected at Fabian’s request. Now, as she stretched out her hand to greet the older man, she was clearly taken aback when the stylishly dressed Maestro of Italian haute couture kissed her soundly on both cheeks, then held her away from him, so that he could run his expert gaze up and down her figure.

‘But she is perfect, Fabian!’ he announced in English. ‘Like a young Grace Kelly! You have made my task very easy today. Come, signorina—my Aladdin’s Cave of exquisite delights awaits you! AQ 21Fabian, per favore, wait here and we will present my selection to you one by one.’

Immediately Fabian saw how uncomfortable Laura was with this idea—but he would not accede to her discomfort and go away. He was just like any other Italian when it came to beautiful things, and he was intrigued to see this private little fashion parade Dante had in store. So he took up residence in a high-backed armchair in the luxurious salon that overlooked the blaze of elegant white marquees glinting in the sunshine, and ignored Laura’s silent plea.

There was a small vestibule, and then another room leading off that, which was where Dante had set up his rail of stunning dresses. As he watched the two of them disappear, Fabian mulled over the coming concert, sensing the old resentment towards his father return. He should have brought the event to an end a long time ago because of the distress it caused him, but he’d resisted because of the substantial amounts of money it raised for the children’s hospice. If it weren’t for that, it would no longer be the one uncomfortable sticking point in his calendar.

He wasn’t afraid of not carrying out to the letter the instructions in Roberto’s will. After all … what could his despotic tyrannical spirit do? Haunt him from the grave? Yet after their visit to the hospice, and engaging with those incredible children again, Fabian knew he would not call a halt to the yearly concerts. Scraping his hand resignedly through his hair, he turned his mind instead towards the future for a moment. With a sudden great yearning he thought about what his own children would be like when he became a father. He did not doubt they would help bring more meaning and purpose to his life … something he had been craving for a very long time. Work, money, admiration—these were empty pursuits in comparison, and the satisfaction in all of them momentary and fleeting.

Caught up in his thoughts, it took him a couple of seconds to register the fact that Dante was at the door gesturing to him with what was definitely a worried expression on his face. In a torrent of concerned Italian, the older man told him what was the problem. His stomach gripped with disquiet, Fabian followed him back into the room he had just vacated.

Laura stood at the tall Palladian window with her back to him. She was dressed in a full-length scarlet backless gown that displayed to perfection the long slim lines of her body, notwithstanding the feminine curves that were the epitome of grace rather than voluptuous. For a moment he was spellbound. With her soft halo of bright hair and pearlescent skin, he knew she would elicit many appreciative admiring gasps in such a gown. Yet as he moved towards her he could tell that she was deeply upset. Thinking of what his friend had told him, he took a steadying breath.

‘Laura?’

‘This is far too revealing,’ she said, in a voice thickened by emotion. ‘I couldn’t possibly wear such a dress in public.’

Laying his hands on her shoulders, Fabian slowly made her turn round to face him. ‘My only wish is that you feel beautiful in whatever gown you ultimately choose. I would not wish for one moment for you to wear anything that makes you remotely ill at ease,’ he reassured her, registering the tears that glistened in her eyes like a punch. Then, because she had her arms held in front of her chest, her hands clenched in front of her breastbone, he dropped his gaze there and said gently, ‘Show me.’

Hesitantly she lowered her arms, and Fabian was confronted by the cruel scarring that violated the soft pearly skin between her breasts. Protest at the wicked desecration was arising passionately inside him, but he could not find the words to express his emotion right then.

‘It was caused by a jagged piece of metal in the crash … the same as here.’ She touched her hand briefly to her forehead. Clearing her throat, she formed her lips into an anxious little smile. ‘I’m sorry, Fabian … I’d hardly make the kind of impression I expect you’d like in these beautiful gowns. I should have told you about this yesterday.’

‘Do not blame yourself. I hardly gave you a chance, did I?’

‘This does not have to be the end of the world, no?’ Suddenly Dante was beside them both, his expressive face enthused with renewed purpose. ‘I am not known as the maestro for nothing! I have accessories that can create magic better than any illusionist! And I have brought other less revealing gowns that will be equally stunning on the beautiful Laura, and will not make her self-conscious about these silly little scars! Life deals us all blows, signorina,’ he said with a glint of moisture in his sable eyes. ‘Some visible, some not so. But we do not have to let them destroy our ability to enjoy the beauty in life … si?’

Briefly meeting Fabian’s concerned glance, Laura wiped at her own tears, then smiled without restraint at the other man who stood there. For a disconcerting instant Fabian sensed his heartbeat quicken at the gesture.

‘You are right, Signor Pasolini. I am sorry I made a fuss,’ he heard her say, and he had to seriously fight not to impel her into his arms there and then and kiss her. ‘Fabian … would you mind leaving us again?’

‘You are sure you want to do this?’ he asked a little gruffly.

‘I don’t want to let you down tonight,’ she replied, her soft gaze like a jewelled misty dawn.

‘I know that will not happen.’

Turning away, Fabian returned to the adjoining salon and, instead of sitting, walked straight to the window and gazed out unseeingly at the busy scenes of activity in front of him. The preparations for tonight’s event were underway with a vengeance, but now he anticipated it with even less enthusiasm than usual. Instead he pondered the devastating effects—both mental and physical—the car accident must have made Laura suffer, and a profound stab of unease and regret pulsed through him.

He should not have coerced her into trying on the dresses—and he would not have if he’d known why she was so reticent. Yet it struck him how dignified and beautiful she’d appeared in the stunning red dress, in spite of her scars. She would make an ideal wife for him. Not showy or avaricious, but composed and serene—he would be able to take her anywhere. Maybe, given time, they might even become good friends? Reluctantly recalling the husband she had lost, he refused to consider that Laura might well refuse his offer of marriage because she was afraid that this marriage too would ultimately end in disaster. She had said that marriage should involve much more than clear-headed logic! Clearly a woman of deeply held passions, could she be satisfied with the kind of loveless arrangement that Fabian was suggesting? Albeit one that had numerous attractive benefits, in his opinion?

Clenching his jaw grimly, he determinedly pushed the disquieting possibility of her refusal away.

A couple of hours before the concert—when the phones had finally stopped ringing and all the lastminute arrangements had been taken care of—

Laura stretched her arms high above her head at her desk and groaned. The muscles at the back of her neck and across her shoulders cramped painfully, testimony to the tension that had been slowly building all day.

It had started with that scene earlier on, when she’d tried on the stunning red dress Dante Pasolini had brought and had known she couldn’t hide her scars any longer. She had never felt more vulnerable or scared than she had in that moment. But the fashion designer had turned out to be the kindest of men, and when Fabian had walked in and seen the scar too the gaze that had swept over her had been anything but repulsed, as Laura had feared it might be. She had definitely seen compassion in his eyes—and how could a man who demonstrated that admirable quality so naturally profess to almost scorn love as he did? What his wife had done had obviously made him deeply cynical about trusting his heart.

Adding to Laura’s discomfort now was not just the fact that she had to present some of the performers during the evening, and act as her boss’s hostess, but that after the concert she had promised Fabian to give him her final answer regarding his marriage proposal. He might want her to treat it like a business proposition, but every time she thought about it her stomach was flooded with butterflies the size of small helicopters.

‘Laura … why are you still at your desk? You should have finished work at least half an hour ago! It is nearly time to get ready.’

He’d entered the room barefooted, as was his custom when he was at home, and—wrapped up in her own pressing concerns—Laura hadn’t heard him.

‘I was only seeing to a few last-minute things,’ she said, turning. ‘A couple of guests lost their invitations, and there were one or two requests from people travelling from further afield for directions to the villa.’

But Fabian hardly seemed to be listening to any of this. Instead he was frowning deeply as he regarded her. ‘You look tired and drawn, and there are dark circles beneath your eyes.’

‘I’ll be fine when I shower and freshen up. You’d be amazed at the transformation a little make-up can effect!’

Ignoring her false attempt at humour, Fabian frowned again, and the furrow between his golden brows didn’t disappear.

‘No doubt you are far too tense. This morning was an ordeal for you, instead of the pleasure I intended.’

Without waiting for her to comment, he swivelled her chair around and slid his hand beneath her hair behind her neck. Gently but firmly he started to knead the muscles there. His touch was silk and velvet, summer rain and scorching sun, all rolled into one. For weak-willed moments Laura let herself bask in the almost unbearable pleasure of it. Then she abruptly brought herself to her senses and told herself she shouldn’t be encouraging him to touch her like this. It was simply too intimate, and it crushed all possibility of making rational decisions where he was concerned ever again.

‘You have to stop.’ She laid her hand over his and pulled it away. Turning in her seat, she lifted her gaze to his in mute appeal.

‘Why?’

‘You ask me that when—’ ‘When what?’

‘When you are confusing me to such a degree that I can’t even remember my own name!’

Rising to her feet, she found herself with bare inches between their two bodies. He was smiling at her, and that confused her even more. With his slightly crumpled white linen shirt, softly napped jeans, bronzed skin and sun-kissed hair, he was the kind of fantasy that she’d never dreamt would come into her sphere.

‘Don’t, Fabian!’

‘What have I done?’ he asked, in apparent innocence.

You’re leading me down a road I am frightened to go down, Laura answered in the silence of her mind. And yet every second you smile at me the temptation to travel it grows too great to resist.

‘I’m only here to work for you, and you’re treating me like—like something far more personal than that.’

‘I have asked you to be my wife … remember?’

‘But the marriage you have in mind is hardly a proper one.’

‘It will be legal and proper in every way!’ He looked affronted for a moment.

Sensing this was not the time to confront the issue, Laura sighed. ‘You know what I mean! But I suppose we have no choice but to wait until later to discuss it properly. Well … I’d better go and get ready for the evening.’

‘Before you do that I think you should get a massage first. Iron is more yielding than the muscles in the back of your neck! And I want you to be as relaxed as possible tonight, so that you will enjoy the occasion and not dread it.’

His words brought up a new concern. ‘Are you dreading it, Fabian?’ she asked quietly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I haven’t been immune to the fact that you seem a little less than thrilled about the whole event … yet your dedication to helping the children at the hospice is unquestionable!’

Her comment definitely seemed to take him aback. The very blue irises around much darker pupils seemed to acquire an even more intense hue. ‘You are an astute woman, and I cannot deny that promoting and holding this concert brings up some difficult challenges for me personally. But this is not something that I want to consider right now, when I am just a short time away from greeting my guests … si?’

‘Yes, I understand.’

‘Come with me.’ Getting hold of her hand, he steered her firmly towards the door. ‘Where are you—?’

But Fabian wouldn’t say where he was taking her, and Laura had no choice but to allow him to lead her through corridors and vestibules she’d never entered before, and finally down some marble steps to an area that was done out like a Roman spa—complete with inviting swimming pool, and the scent of lemon and pine and sweet herbs clinging to the moist air.

As she glanced interestedly at the beautiful marble statues of scantily clad women that appeared to have been modelled on Botticelli’s Venus, arranged at equally measured distances across an intricate mosaic-tiled floor, a door opened to the right of them and a young man stepped out. Clad in fitted white T-shirt and shorts, with bronzed skin, silky toned muscles and dark curling hair, he couldn’t have been much more than twenty.

‘Ciao, Giuseppe!’ Going forward, his hand still firmly clasping Laura’s, Fabian greeted the younger man with a friendly slap on his hard-muscled bicep. ‘This is Laura, who has been standing in for Carmela the past few days,’ he explained in English. ‘She has been working extremely hard, helping to organise the concert tonight, and is in need of a massage.’

‘Fabian—no!’ Her expression aghast, Laura felt her limbs turn to jelly at the mere idea of this young Hercules applying his practised hands to her pale and less than perfect flesh, with its disfiguring scars. What was Fabian trying to do to her, plunging her into all these uncomfortable situations? Force her to confront the fact that she was different from every other woman he knew? She already knew that.

‘She is a little shy,’ he told Giuseppe with an enigmatic smile. ‘Just her neck, shoulders and back will do. Can you find your own way back to your rooms?’ he asked, his avid gaze latching onto Laura’s again.

‘But, Fabian, I—’

‘You are in good hands with Giuseppe. There is no need to be anxious. He may be young, but he is a master of his craft. I will see you in about an hour and a half at the front entrance. I want you to be with me when I greet our guests. Ciao.’

Leaning forward, he planted a soft kiss at the side of her jaw, just beneath her ear, and Laura sensed heat rush into her with force—especially as he had done it in front of the young masseur.

‘Signorina?’ Giuseppe was holding the door open for her with a smile that was both reassuring and inviting. ‘Do not worry … I will make you feel like a new woman!’ he promised, and Laura felt her ensuing blush right down to the very edges of her toes.