Читать книгу The Italian's Virgin Acquisition - Michelle Conder - Страница 9
ОглавлениеSEBASTIANO CHECKED HIS Rolex as he strode into SJC Towers, his London office building, completely oblivious to the wintry rain landing like icy pellets on his face. From the moment he’d woken up he’d known it was going to be an interesting day. Interesting as in the Chinese curse ‘interesting’—not ‘it’s going to be great’ interesting. Not that he held much with curses or proverbs.
But he wasn’t going to let noisy workmen, an unexpected early-morning visit from his now ex-mistress or a flat tyre derail him. He had been waiting for over two years for this day and finally his crusty old grandfather was going to give up on his stubbornness and hand over the reins of the family dynasty. And not before time!
Bert, his weekend security chief, gave him a nod as he approached the reception desk, not at all perplexed to see his boss arriving for work on a Sunday morning.
‘Catch the game yesterday, boss?’ Bert asked with a flashing grin.
‘Don’t gloat,’ Sebastiano advised. ‘It’s a very unattractive quality.’
Bert’s grin widened. ‘Yes sir!’
Their friendly rivalry was a source of great amusement to Sebastiano. Too often those around him hid behind a mask of eager deference to get on his good side all because he had been born into a life of wealth and privilege. It was irritating to say the least.
He caught a glimpse of the newspaper Bert had spread out on the desk showing a picture of Sebastiano leaving a posh, and utterly boring, cocktail party the night before. Evidently his now ex-mistress had seen the same photos on the Internet which was why she had decided to ambush him outside his Park Lane home after his early-morning run, wanting to know why he hadn’t invited her to attend with him.
In hindsight, ‘because it didn’t occur to me’ hadn’t been his best answer. Things had rapidly deteriorated after that, ending when she’d issued him with an ultimatum: either move their relationship forward or end it. Not that he could blame her for being frustrated. He’d pursued her a month ago with the ruthless determination that had seen him rise to the top of the Forbes 500 list by the age of thirty-one and he’d yet to sleep with her more than once.
Which wasn’t like him. He normally had a very healthy libido but he’d been off stride lately. Probably only this damned situation with his grandfather. Not to mention the twenty-hour days he had been putting in at the office to finalise a deal that would see him take over as industry leader in the hotel construction market.
Of course, he’d apologised to the world-renowned ballerina, but she hadn’t been impressed, blowing him a kiss over one elegant shoulder and purring that it was his loss as she had gracefully exited his life. Thinking about it now, he might suggest she give break-up lessons to some of his past involvements. She’d make a small fortune teaching basic relationship-exiting etiquette to others, particularly to the Spanish model who had thrown her hair brush at him when he’d suggested they part ways some months back.
‘Better luck next time, eh, boss?’ Bert chortled, feigning contrition. Sebastiano grunted. He knew Bert was referring to yesterday’s football match, in which his team had annihilated Sebastiano’s, but equally he could have applied the sentiment to his stalled sex life.
‘Your team wins again,’ Sebastiano said as he headed for the bank of elevators. ‘I’ll dock your wages by half.’
‘Yes sir!’ Bert’s grin widened as he checked the security monitors on his desk.
Stepping into the lift, Sebastiano stabbed the button for his floor and hoped that his adroit EA had found time to collate the reports he wanted to present to his grandfather this morning as part of his winning pitch. Ordinarily he’d never ask Paula to come in on a Sunday, but his grandfather had landed this visit on him at the last minute and he hadn’t wanted to leave anything to chance.
Not that his business acumen was the reason behind his grandfather’s reticence to hand him control of the company. No, what he wanted was to see Sebastiano settled down with a lovely donna who would one day become the mother of his multiple bambini. His grandfather wanted him to have something other than work to sustain him. Something called work-life balance. A modern-day catch cry if ever Sebastiano had heard one, and one he suspected his grandfather had acquired from his cherished wife. Whatever Nonna wanted, Nonna got.
‘How can I expect you to take on another demanding role when you already have so little time to relax?’ his grandfather had said over the phone a month ago. ‘Your grandmother and I just want to see you happy, Bastian. You know how we worry. I can’t die if I don’t know you will be taken care of.’
‘You know I can take care of myself,’ Sebastiano had growled. ‘And you’re not dying. At least, not right now.’
But his grandparents were old-world Italian. If there wasn’t a good woman cooking in his kitchen and warming his bed at night, they considered him to be living a lonely, substandard existence. And apparently having a housekeeper providing those hot meals, and as many women as a man could want offering to warm his bed, wasn’t what they were talking about.
More’s the pity.
Because for Sebastiano being busy was his work-life balance. He thrived on it. There wasn’t a day went by he didn’t wake up wanting to conquer some new business opportunity or some new corporate challenge. Love? Marriage? Both required a level of intimacy he didn’t have it in him to give.
Being a little removed from those around him had served him well over the years and he couldn’t see a reason to change that. And if some nights he had a lonely, late-night aperitif by himself, overlooking the glittering lights of whichever city he happened to be in at the time...well, so be it.
Right now he was in the prime of his life, and as he had just bought Britain’s largest steel and concrete supply company there was no better time to take over as head of Castiglione Europa. The two businesses dovetailed so beautifully that Sebastiano had already asked his marketing and sales team to work up a plan to move into the hotel refurbishment industry across Eastern Europe.
He just had to convince his hard-headed nonno to retire and see out his twilight years with the wife he adored in the family’s Amalfi coast villa. Then, and only then, could Sebastiano make up for the hardship he had caused his family fifteen years ago.
Deep in thought, he flicked on the lights to the executive floor and heard a text come through on his phone. Switching on the coffee machine on his way to his office, he opened the text and pulled up short.
He read it twice. Apparently Paula was in Accident and Emergency with her husband who had a suspected broken ankle. The report he required was still on her computer. His frown turned into a scowl. With his grandfather due any minute, he didn’t need this kind of delay.
Texting back that he hoped her husband was okay, he retrieved her laptop from her desk and carried it into his office. Glancing at the screen festooned with multi-coloured icons that made his eyes cross, he couldn’t find any folder that looked like it held the report he needed.
Great. That was just great.
* * *
Poppy checked the Mickey Mouse watch on her wrist and groaned. She had to get out of here. Her brother Simon would be waiting and he always became agitated when she was late. On top of that Maryann, her wonderful neighbour who had been more of a mother to both of them than anyone else they had ever known, had just been diagnosed with MS. It was a cruel blow for a woman who was beautiful both inside and out and Poppy wanted to do something nice for her today.
Trying not to dwell on the awful news, Poppy tightened her haphazard ponytail and skimmed over the legal brief she wanted to present to her boss tomorrow morning. She only had one week left of her internship at SJC International and she wanted to make sure she sparkled. Who knew, once her law degree was finished she might even be offered a job here if she impressed the powers that be enough. The ultimate power being her boss’s boss, Sebastiano Castiglione. She hadn’t had anything to do with him directly, but she had seen him stalking through the halls, his long stride indicating a man who was always on a mission, his wide shoulders denoting that likely he would succeed at that mission.
Catching herself daydreaming about his dark bad-boy good looks, and reminding herself that he had a bad-boy reputation to match, she stacked the files she had been using back in the cabinet and switched off the computer. Not being a morning person, she would have liked to work from home this morning, but the laptop she used for university was a thousand years old and wouldn’t run the program she needed to use. On top of which intern privileges didn’t extend to downloading company files on her private device, even if she was doing company business.
Stretching the kinks out of her neck, she was about to leave when she noticed the legal book she had borrowed from Paula a week earlier. Tomorrow was going to be a hectic day so it made sense to return it on her way out today.
Ordinarily she wouldn’t have access to the big boss’s hallowed ground, but since her boss had lent her his access pass she did. Still, she hesitated for a second. She didn’t want to get Mr Adams into trouble by doing something she shouldn’t, but she also didn’t want to risk the chance she would return the book late and look sloppy. One of the best ways to stand out as an intern was to be as efficient as possible and Poppy took her job very seriously. And, since no one else was around this morning, who would know?
Making her mind up, she grabbed the book and headed for the lift. After having been raised in the foster care system since she was twelve, and having to take care of a brother ten years younger who had been born deaf, she knew the only way out of her current poverty-riddled existence was to focus on bettering herself. She’d been given a second chance when Maryann had found them both huddled up to a heater at Paddington Station eight years ago and she intended to use every second of that chance to make sure that they both had a future to look forward to.
Swiping the access card and pressing the button for the executive floor, she waited patiently for the lift to open out onto the stylish elegance that denoted that one had truly arrived in the world. Crossing the softly carpeted floor into Mr Castiglione’s outer office, Poppy paused to take in the sweeping views of London she so rarely got to see. Despite the pale grey sky the city looked picture-perfect with its seamless blend of new-and old-world architecture. It was as if nothing could touch a person from way up here, but Poppy knew that, once you got down to ground level, things could not only touch you; they could destroy you if you let them.
Caught up as she was by dark, unwanted memories, she jumped when a deep male voice cursed loudly, shattering the stillness.
Heart thumping, Poppy turned to find who it was, but no one was about. Then another curse coloured the air and she realised it was coming from inside her boss’s office.
Always too curious for her own good, she stepped forward on light feet and paused at the open doorway to Mr Castiglione’s internal space. She sucked in a sharp breath as she saw the man himself standing, legs braced wide, in front of the plate glass windows.
She’d recognise him anywhere, of course. Powerful. Untamed. Stunningly good-looking. He raked a hand through his hair, mussing it into untidy black waves. He was tall for an Italian, and muscular, as if he worked out every day and then some. Since he was reputed to work about twenty hours a day, Poppy didn’t know where he found the time, but she was glad he did. He was eye-candy extraordinaire. Or ‘sex on a stick’, as Maryann was wont to say.
As if he sensed her silent perusal, he shot round from studying the phone in his hand, his brilliant green eyes piercing her straight to her core. For a moment Poppy forgot to breathe. Then he spoke, his aggravated gaze sweeping over her and lighting tiny spot fires of sensation in its wake.
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘I’m an intern.’ Poppy cleared the frog from her throat. ‘Poppy. Poppy Connolly. I work for you.’
His frown deepened as he looked her up and down again. ‘Since when have jeans and a sweater been considered appropriate office attire?’
Poppy flushed at the dressing down. ‘It’s a Sunday,’ she explained, forcing herself not to tuck thick strands of her untidy brown hair behind her ear. ‘And I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in.’ Which wasn’t really much of an explanation when he stood before her in a snowy-white dress shirt, red tie and dark trousers that did little to hide his powerful thighs.
‘Yes, it is a Sunday. So why are you here?’
‘I have a week left and I wanted to finish up a presentation for Mr Adams. He said it would be fine if I came in.’
One dark eyebrow rose. ‘Taking dedication a bit far, isn’t it?’
‘Not if you want to get ahead,’ she said simply. ‘And I’d love to work here when I graduate. Being flexible and committed are just two of the things interns can do to stand out.’
Sure that he was about to toss her out of his office, maybe via one of those plate glass windows, she was surprised when instead he asked, ‘What are the others?’
‘Be punctual, treat the position like a job and dress for success.’ She ticked off each item on her fingers.
His gaze fell to her ancient skinny jeans and Poppy tried not to cringe. When she had first started at SJC five weeks ago she had imagined one day meeting this man, who was reported to be some sort of corporate god, but in her imaginings it hadn’t quite gone like this.
‘Broke that one, I see,’ he said sardonically.
Poppy felt heat creep into her cheeks and realised that her heart was beating at double its normal rate. Probably ‘finding your boss attractive’ wasn’t on that special intern’s list either, and she tried to crank up the wheels of her sluggish brain to think of a way to salvage the rapidly deteriorating situation.
When the phone rang on his desk it broke the taught silence between them and also threw Poppy a welcome lifeline.
‘Let me get that,’ she said in her most businesslike manner.
Before he could respond, she had made it to his desk and snatched up the phone. She smiled widely at him as she chirped, ‘Mr Castiglione’s office,’ in her most professional voice.
Her smile dimmed as she strained to listen to the teary sound of a woman on the other end of the line. She had a heavily accented voice and, coupled with her distress, Poppy could just make out, ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ and, ‘Is Sebastiano in?’
‘Yes, he is here,’ Poppy said, all too aware that the man they were discussing had not taken his eyes off her. ‘Yes, of course. Just a moment.’ Not knowing which button on the handset was the mute, she held out the phone. ‘It’s for you,’ she half-whispered.
Once more his eyebrow climbed his forehead. ‘What a surprise.’
Feeling as if she had mucked up again, she stepped back from his radiating warmth as he moved closer and took the phone.
‘Yes?’ he barked into it.
Seeing his scowl instantly deepen, Poppy decided to take the initiative and make him a coffee. She had noticed the red light glowing on the coffee machine in his outer office and, since there was no cup on his desk, it stood to reason that he’d intended to make one but hadn’t had the time.
Well, she would fix that and earn herself some Brownie points in the process. Maybe some of the ones she had lost handing him a call that, now that she thought about, was most likely from his current girlfriend. Or ex, given that the woman was crying. His short-term conquests were the stuff of legend around the office. As was the expensive break-up-and-move-on jewellery he supposedly got Paula to buy for them at the end.
Eager to get home and check on Simon, and give Maryann a hug and a cup of tea, she hurried to the coffee machine, surprised to find her boss still on the call when she set the cup down beside him. He passed a weary hand through his hair and she was inordinately pleased with herself for thinking of the coffee when he suddenly reached out and manacled her wrist with his large hand, preventing her from leaving.
Poppy instantly stilled, staring down at his darkly tanned fingers that were now idly stroking the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. Her breath hitched as darts of wicked pleasure shot up her arm. Her eyes shot to his and she could tell by the way his brilliant green eyes narrowed that he had registered her heated reaction.
Lust turned her knees to water. Lust and disbelief because, not only was this man her current boss, but he was listening to a woman—who she was now pretty certain was his girlfriend—sobbing on the end of the phone while caressing her!
Louse!
Annoyed that she had felt such pleasure given the circumstances, Poppy jerked her hand back, knocking over the coffee mug she had only moments ago set so carefully in front of him. Before either of them could react, the contents of the mug went flying over the desk, dark liquid splattering all over the front of her boss’s pristine white shirt.
Sebastiano let out an explosive round of Italian curse words that made Poppy blush even though she didn’t understand a single one of them.
She stared open-mouthed as he hung up his call, holding his sopping wet shirt away from his chest.
‘What the hell was that?’ he ground out, fury splitting the air between them.
‘I... You...’ Glancing around wildly, Poppy grabbed a wad of tissues from a side cabinet and started dabbing at his chest. When he held his hand up for her to stop, she noticed that drops had splashed down onto his crotch and, without thinking, she dabbed at the offending liquid only to have that hand manacle her wrist again. This time without the light stroking.
‘There’s a shirt hanging in the closet behind you. Get it.’
Glancing up into his irritated gaze, Poppy felt a fresh wave of heat fill her cheeks. The air seemed to thicken and crackle between them like heat shimmering off concrete on a hot day. ‘Yes, sorry. I...’
‘Any time today would be good,’ he growled.
‘Right,’ she stammered.
Even more annoyed with herself, she reached into his closet and ripped the clear plastic from a fresh shirt, not at all ready to turn around and find her boss shirtless and wiping his ripped, tanned abdomen with another wad of tissues.
Good God, the man had sheets of muscles layered on top of more muscles, and all of that bronzed, fit perfection was covered in a pelt of healthy dark hair that arrowed down...
‘I—You—’ She pointed to the vicinity of his torso. ‘You have a red mark on your chest. Do you want me to get some salve for it?’
‘No, I do not want you to do anything else,’ he bit out.
‘Okay.’ Poppy thrust the shirt at him, turning her burning face away, hoping he couldn’t hear her thundering heartbeat. ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered, her throat tight with embarrassment. ‘I don’t know what happened. I’m not usually so clumsy—really I’m not—but when you... I just... I’m really sorry.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ he bit out tersely.
Hearing the rustle of fabric, Poppy turned back to find him shoving the ends of his shirt into his trousers and swallowed hard. She wished she didn’t know what lay beneath that shirt because she couldn’t get the image of his toned torso out of her head. She watched, mute, as he straightened his cuffs and wound his red tie around his neck.
‘At least the coffee missed your tie,’ she offered.
His cutting glance told her more than words how little he thought of her comment. ‘Is that supposed to make up for you dousing me with coffee?’
‘I didn’t douse you,’ she said with a touch of asperity. ‘You were rubbing my wrist while breaking up with your girlfriend.’
‘And that made you spill coffee all over me?’
‘I didn’t do it deliberately,’ she said, secretly thinking that actually he deserved it. ‘Maybe you should be thankful it wasn’t hot.’
His implacable gaze held hers. ‘It was hot.’
Poppy bit her lip and watched with interest as he tussled with his tie. Cursing, he yanked it off and started over. Her lips twitched as her annoyance dissipated. There was something completely disarming about a man of his size and capability wrangling with an innocent strip of fabric. ‘Do you want me to help you with that?’
Once more he flicked her with his green gaze. ‘I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?’
She held her hands up in front of her. ‘Look—no coffee.’
Not even the trace of a smile crossed his sinful lips and she thought it such a shame that a man who was so good-looking should have no sense of humour.
Wondering if now might be the best moment for her to cut her losses she paused when he indicated to the computer open on his desk.
‘Can you use a Mac?’
Hesitating only briefly she marshalled her usually sunny nature and smiled at him. ‘Yes.’
‘I need a report printed off before my grandfather arrives for a meeting. Think you can handle it?’
Poppy moistened her dry lips. ‘Of course.’ She sat down in his chair and set her fingers on the keyboard. ‘What’s the name of the file?’
He leaned forward and she got a delicious whiff of sandalwood cologne. ‘If I knew that, intern, I’d already have it done, wouldn’t I?’
‘Oh, well, yes...’ When she realised how close he was behind her Poppy’s voice trailed off, her lips drying up again faster than a trickle of water in the Mojave Desert.
‘It’ll be something to do with Castiglione Europa, or CE for short,’ he growled.
Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach Poppy scanned the folders on the screen and didn’t see anything related to either of those. Then her eyes fell on an interesting one.
‘Are you getting married?’ she queried, peeking up at him.
‘No.’ He scowled. ‘Why would you ask that?’
‘No reason. Except Paula’s got a file called “Operation Marriage” but that’s probably got to do with the bet and not what you’re looking for.’
‘The what?’
Poppy told herself to shut up but knew by his thunderous expression that she was going to have to explain herself. ‘The bet,’ she said in an upbeat manner. ‘Even I’ve heard that your grandfather is encouraging you to settle down—and, well... some of the legal department have dubbed it “Operation Marriage”.’
His gaze turned flinty. ‘I see the office grapevine is alive and well, then. Why have I not heard it?’
‘Well, because the gossip is about you—obviously. But don’t worry. Nobody thinks you’ll do it.’
‘Good to know my staff know me well at least.’
Poppy shrugged, relieved that he didn’t seem annoyed by her revelation. ‘I take it by your reaction you can’t imagine anything worse than marriage?’
‘Death.’
Poppy’s smile grew at his grim tone. ‘Right. But I think it’s kind of sweet, actually. Your grandfather wanting you to find love.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’ He leaned over her. ‘Click on the folder. Now open that file.’ He pointed at the screen and Poppy had to force herself to focus on his instructions and not his steely arm brushing the outside of hers. ‘There. Send that report to print.’ He straightened away from the chair and cursed again.
Poppy glanced up to find him yanking his tie open again.
‘I do know how to tie a tie,’ she murmured.
His gaze told her he’d rather set his hair on fire than have her help him again.
‘Fine.’ His hands dropped to his sides and the two ends of the tie dangled down his lean body like twin arrows signalling paradise. ‘I’m all yours.’
Sure that her face must look as hot as it felt Poppy reminded herself of the last man she had found attractive, and how that had ended for her and her brother.
Fortified by that particularly humiliating memory, she gripped the tie and reached up, doing her best to ignore the dark stubble that lined his hard jaw. He was tall, well over six feet, and she had to rise onto her toes to position the knot in the centre of his throat. This close, she could feel his heat, and smell his potently male scent. It made her want to lean in and nuzzle against him, to breath it in more deeply.
Not that she would. She wasn’t a fool.
She noticed his tanned throat working as her fingers grazed his skin and she steadfastly refused to look at his face. ‘What kind of knot do you want?’ she asked, her voice husky and unlike the way it usually sounded.
‘What kind of knots can you do?’ His seemed deeper too, rougher.
‘All of them.’
‘All of them?’
Braving a quick glance upwards, she found that his eyes were heavy lidded as they met hers.
‘Just how many are there?’ he asked.
‘Eighteen that I know of.’
‘Eighteen.’ His eyes glittered down into hers. ‘Can you name them?’
‘Yes. Do you want me to?’
‘No.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘You’ve obviously done this before. Lucky guy.’
‘Mannequin.’ She adjusted the length of the tie and created a loop. ‘I dressed in-store mannequins part-time during high school.’
His lips twisted into a small smirk. ‘Lucky in-store mannequins.’
Poppy’s hand flattened against his chest as the tie slipped. She could feel his heart beating heavy and strong beneath his breastbone... Was that a shudder that just went through his big body?
All of a sudden she felt surrounded by his warmth, his deliciously male smell, and she had to swallow hard before speaking. ‘So, which one do you want?’ she asked thickly.
‘Just do a Windsor knot.’ The words seemed to rumble out of his chest.
‘That’s the one most men prefer,’ she said.
‘Are you calling me common, Miss Connolly?’
‘No.’ Poppy tugged a length of the tie through another loop, her heart beating twice as fast as usual. ‘It’s just that it’s the largest, and most men who wear neckties like to have a large knot.’
‘Most women probably like them to have a large knot as well.’ His voice was deep, his chest rising and falling evenly beneath her suddenly clumsy fingers. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’
Deciding not to take this conversation any further for fear that he might actually be flirting with her, and it was the last thing she wanted, she concentrated on finishing the knot. ‘I wouldn’t know, Mr Castiglione. I don’t date men who wear ties.’ In fact she didn’t date period.
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘Then what do they wear?’
‘Nothing. That is they...’ Blushing furiously she folded his collar into place. ‘There. All done.’
‘A word of advice, Miss Connolly,’ he began, waiting for her to look up at him before continuing. ‘If you do happen to get a job here, don’t ever hand me a call without first finding out who it is.’
Remembering how upset the woman on the end of the phone had been, Poppy pursed her lips. ‘Not even if the person is crying?’
‘Especially if the person is crying.’
Shaking her head Poppy wondered if he was really as ruthless and heartless as he was reputed to be. Of their own accord her eyes drifted to his mouth. His lips were firm and chiselled without seeming hard. Rumour also had it that he knew how to make a woman go wild in bed, and she wondered if his mouth would be rough or soft if she reached up and kissed him.
Instantly another fierce blush suffused her face as she registered the insanely inappropriate impulse, making her flustered. ‘Why were you holding my wrist before anyway?’ she asked belligerently. ‘When you were on the phone?’ He’d been stroking her skin so tenderly she could still feel the impression of his fingers against her skin.
‘I don’t really know.’ His gaze flitted over her face, his green eyes hot and hungry. Poppy blinked, unable to look away. She was used to men noticing her, finding her attractive even, but she wasn’t used to this answering heat rise up inside of her. She wasn’t used to this overwhelming urge to...
‘Scusa, Sebastiano, sono in anticipo?’
A deep, croaky voice intruded on the moment, startling Poppy out of her sensual haze.
