The Italian Boss's Secretary Mistress

by Cathy Williams

  ‘You see the man as the protector, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not! Well, not in such simplistic terms anyway.’ She was mesmerised by the way the half-light in the hallway threw his face into intriguing angles.

  ‘Why? What’s wrong with simplistic terms? I agree with you. I’m the kind of man who would want to protect my woman. You’d better be careful, though. Your basic caveman isn’t drawn to a woman who’s just as capable as he is of hunting prey. Don’t pursue too much independence—you might just find it backfires on you.’

  ‘I would never be attracted to a man who was threatened by my independence,’ Rose said a little too breathlessly for her liking, but then he was very close to her and not just close, but close and giving her his undivided masculine attention. Just in case he saw the jittery spark in her eyes and misinterpreted it, or rather interpreted it too accurately, she thought to throw in, ‘And, for your information, I might not be feminist enough to want a house husband, but I certainly wouldn’t want a caveman.’

  ‘Touché,’ Gabriel said dryly. He straightened up and so did she. He had the suddenly consuming urge to touch her, maybe stroke the side of her face. Instead he opened the door. ‘But I’m not the caveman you seem to think I am when it comes to women…’

  ‘No? You could have fooled me.’

  ‘You really shouldn’t say things like that,’ he chided, leaning towards her so that her head was suddenly swimming and she felt as though her legs might buckle under her at any minute. ‘I might just be tempted to prove you wrong.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SITTING at the very far corner of the staff restaurant, Gabriel had a bird’s eye view of Rose, who was playing with the salad she had taken as though suspecting that something unpleasant might crawl out from under the lettuce leaves at any given moment. He had a feeling that she wasn’t even really aware of the clattering of voices on her table. Frankly, she looked as though she was a million miles away, thinking about God only knew what. Maybe the fact that June was proving to be a record breaker as far as soaring summer temperatures went. For the past two weeks the sky had been cloudless, the heat reaching unbeaten highs of early eighties. London was sweltering. People were complaining, as they did whenever the weather did anything unexpected. The parks were a sea of white bodies slowly going red in the relentless sun.

  Of course, here in the restaurant, it could have been a fine autumn day outside. The marvels of central air-conditioning, which was probably why the place was packed. Who wanted to leave the comfort of the cool indoors to venture out into the baking sun? The first few days of novelty value had worn off for most of his employees and the fierce heat was not proving to be worth the bother of a tube journey to the nearest patch of green.

  Which in turn was why Rose had not noticed his presence, tucked away with a couple of his corporate finance people and one of the company lawyers. They were discussing the minutiae of his most recent acquisition and Gabriel had switched off from the conversation a while back. In truth, he shouldn’t really be eating in the staff restaurant at all. A business lunch at the Savoy Grill had beckoned. Nothing that he couldn’t delegate to his CEO, allowing himself the bird’s eye view he was now shamelessly enjoying of his secretary.

  He couldn’t quite put his finger on what had changed between them, but something had. Their working relationship when she had departed for Australia had been exemplary. The ideal working relationship, in fact. And then she had returned and he wasn’t sure if the physical change in her had kick-started something in him or whether it had been that evening spent with her, first at the restaurant and then afterwards at her house, during which he had caught tantalising glimpses of the red-blooded woman beneath the competent one-dimensional exterior.

  Gabriel just didn’t know. He just knew that for the past few weeks he had found his eyes straying towards her, noticing the details of her face, like the light sprinkling of freckles on her nose, the way her straight hair seemed to be streaked with a hundred different shades of brown and copper, the contrast of her clear brown eyes and much darker eyelashes.

  And her body. He had caught himself thinking about her body at the most inappropriate times. In the middle of meetings. Sitting in front of his laptop in his office at home. On the telephone to a client, when he could look at her through the glass partition separating their offices, look at the way her full breasts were outlined against the flimsy dresses and thin silky cardigans the sheer summer heat compelled her to wear to work. He was beginning to have steamy thoughts about that body of hers which, until a few months ago, had been so properly concealed beneath sensible layers of dark-coloured clothes. Actually, up until a few months ago, he really hadn’t been that aware that she had a body at all, at least not in the sexual sense of the word. Now he seemed to spend a good amount of his waking time on the verge of an embarrassing arousal.

  To start with he had been amused at his intense reaction to her. And baffled. After all, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t spent the past four years in her company!

  Very soon, though, irritation with himself had set in, at which point his logical brain reached its logical conclusion. He was suffering from sex deprivation. He had been without a woman for a while, at least three months. The last woman he had dated, a model called Caitlin, had been a willing and able playmate but had evidently wanted more than a man who could be relied upon for expensive gifts, expensive meals out, creative sex and not much else. His frequent cancellations had eventually brought about the inevitable showdown and he had been quietly relieved when she had finished with him.

  Having diagnosed the problem, Gabriel had set about sorting out a solution with the speed and efficiency with which he addressed all problems. He had simply rifled through his little black book and extracted a name. The woman in question he had met several months previously and had since bumped into her at various social occasions. At each, she had reminded him that she would love a call and, with his unlikely attraction to his secretary causing him pause for uncomfortable thought, Gabriel had cheerfully set the groundwork for an enjoyable and distracting seduction.

  Unfortunately, it had failed to work. Their first meeting had taken place at an intimate but lively club, a favourite haunt of Gabriel’s, who liked the live jazz band and the relaxed atmosphere. The flatness of the evening he could only blame on the music, which must have killed the conversation. Meeting two had been at a restaurant, no music and hence no excuse for the fact that he had struggled through the fine food and wine, glancing down at his watch often enough to make him realise that Arianna was perhaps not quite his cup of tea.

  Which, he thought now, still left him with the unexpected problem of a secretary he was beginning to fancy. A secretary, he had to admit to himself, who had maintained an enviable detachment ever since that one evening during which she had opened up. She had reverted to being the cool ice queen, but with a sexy little body and a way of flicking a glance at him from under her lashes that made him want to slam shut that damned interconnecting door, grab her and have his wicked way with her on his grand mahogany desk.

  Sam Stewart, his company lawyer, interrupted the pleasant daydream that involved some very satisfactory ripping of blouses and yanking down of lacy white bras with a question about the pension trust fund of a company with which they were negotiating and Gabriel surfaced to realise that he had missed most of a very important conversation. He dragged his attention back to the matter in hand, deliberately turning away from Rose, who was now standing up anyway, looking at her watch, straightening her skirt. Getting ready to head back to the office where she would keep her head dutifully down until five-thirty, at which point she would clear her desk and politely bid him good evening.

  Later, much later, after an evening spent poring over reports with only some chilled wine and Mozart for company, Gabriel realised that he would have to do something about his worrying situation. Losing sleep over a woman was bad enough, but suffering lapses in his concentration during the day was beyon
d the pale.

  The only solution to satisfying his curiosity, he reasoned to himself, would be to put it to bed. Literally. And the thought of that alone was enough to make his body harden in immediate response.

  He made the call at nine-fifteen the following morning. And Rose took it, as he knew she would.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be here, Gabriel? I’ve double-checked the diaries and you’re definitely not due for your first meeting until eleven. With the people from Shipley Crew…’ Rose had checked the diaries more than just twice. She had checked it and re-checked it roughly a hundred times since she had entered her office, only to find Gabriel conspicuous by his absence.

  ‘Cancel all my meetings for today, Rose. Frank can handle Shipley on his own or he can take Jenkins with him just in case they need any expert advice.’

  ‘Where are you?’ It was so unlike Gabriel to be unpredictable during working hours that Rose actually felt a physical tingle of apprehension race down her spine.

  ‘At my place.’

  ‘Doing what?’ She took a few deep breaths and repeated the question in a less crazed voice.

  ‘Being under the weather.’

  ‘You’re under the weather? As in ill? You’re never ill, Gabriel!’

  ‘Try telling that to the strep bacteria in my throat.’ Which he cleared convincingly.

  Rose was torn between thinking that, with typical male lack of stamina, Gabriel had caved in to the simple cold bug with which he was unfamiliar, or else he was really ill. Ill as in should go to hospital ill.

  ‘You seemed fine yesterday,’ Rose informed him briskly. ‘Are you sure you…’ she opted for the least worrying option ‘…haven’t got a hangover?’

  ‘I think I’m old enough and experienced enough to recognise a hangover,’ Gabriel said.

  ‘Then it’s probably just a bug you picked up. There are a few of those flying around. I’ll make sure your meetings are cancelled and you can let me know later in the day if I need to rearrange any of the ones you have booked for tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ll have to come here, Rose.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I’ll need you to type some urgent stuff up for me.’

  ‘You can’t work if you’re ill!’

  ‘You know where I live, don’t you?’

  ‘I can’t come over to your place, Gabriel!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because…because I have an awful lot to do here…’

  ‘And I have an awful lot to do here. Get a piece of paper and write down my address. And, for God’s sake, don’t make the journey by bus. Get a cab. I want you here some time before the end of the week.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I’m keeping strictly to your work to rule, Rose. I’m not asking you to work to an unusually late hour. I’m asking you to have a change of environment for a couple of hours. Now, have you got that pencil?’ Without giving her time to lodge another pointless protest, Gabriel rattled off his address and then repeated it slowly to make sure that she’d taken it down correctly. ‘Got it?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Should take you half an hour to get here, even with a bit of traffic. So I’ll see you by ten. I’ll make sure the front door’s open so you can just let yourself in.’ He could have sworn he heard another but rising to the surface when he hung up.

  Rose stared at the disconnected phone for a few minutes as she tried to get her thoughts in order. She could hardly believe that Gabriel was ill. Ill enough to have taken a day off work. He was always so ferociously energetic that it was hard to imagine him ever being felled by something as small as a bug. She stared at the piece of paper with his address on it. When she thought about actually going into his house or apartment or flat or whatever he had, somewhere posh in Kensington at any rate, she felt physically faint. But what if he really was ill? She couldn’t imagine that he would take himself off to the doctor’s. Heaven only knew if he had one!

  Sick foreboding made her gather her things together quickly. Whatever disks she might need, her own laptop which the company provided for her free of charge, bits of post that needed to be checked and letters that required Gabriel’s signature. Then she rearranged meetings and liaised with a couple of people in Finance who would have to cover for Gabriel at least for the day. She caught a taxi just as it was stopping to let someone off outside the office block.

  Nerves kicked in as soon as she had slammed shut the door behind her and leaned forward to give the cab driver Gabriel’s address. She could feel her short-sleeved blouse clinging to her as she tried to push down the window so that some breeze could reach her heated face. The knee-length flared floral skirt, which had promised to keep her cool when it had been hanging in her wardrobe, felt horribly constricting in the back seat of a taxi. Everything clung. Even her hair seemed to cling to her skull, making her wish that she had done the sensible thing and tied it back.

  When she looked out of the window, she could see that everyone was as uncomfortable as she was. Red faces, makeshift fans from bus timetables, handkerchiefs wiping backs of necks.

  But at least that was where their discomfort stopped. She focused on the black computer case by her side, which was big enough to contain everything, and tried not to think about walking into his domain. She hoped that the surroundings wouldn’t be too imposing and that perhaps his thrusting, overwhelming personality found solace in a cottage-style place.

  She was wrong. She knew that the moment the taxi stopped in front of an imposing Victorian townhouse in an exclusive crescent which was distinguished by the sheer volume of expensive cars parked nose to bumper outside. She paid the cab driver and asked for a receipt while scanning the pristine row of houses for anything that might look reassuringly unkempt, but no such luck.

  The door, as promised, was unlocked, making her wonder how someone as sharp as Gabriel could be so trusting, but as she glanced over her shoulder she noticed Harry sitting in Gabriel’s car on the opposite side of the pavement and waved.

  Then she was in his…house. Townhouse, she realised, was too unimaginative a term for the place in which she found herself. The floor was a rich dark wood, interrupted, in the hall, by a stunning blue and red geometrically patterned rug and the cream walls, which should have been bland, were a display case for works of art which looked horribly expensive.

  Rose resisted the urge to peer into some of the other rooms and instead eyed the staircase dubiously.

  ‘I’m here!’

  She jumped as his voice surprised her from behind and she spun around to see him standing in one of the doorways, Or rather, she thought, as her heartbeat quickened to a sickinducing speed, lounging indolently. Lounging indolently in a black silk robe which was loosely tied at the front and which appeared to conceal nothing more than bare skin.

  Rose nearly yelped. She knew her eyes were round and startled as she made a conscious effort not to stare at the bare legs with their sprinkling of dark hair, the sliver of bronzed chest visible where the lapels of the robe failed to meet. Was he even wearing underwear? she thought.

  ‘I expected you a little sooner. Lock the front door, would you?’

  Rose was more than happy to do that. Anything to rescue her from the sight of Gabriel Gessi in very little.

  He had disappeared by the time she turned back round and she headed for the room from which he had appeared. Spot on.

  Rose walked into a room that was striking not because of its size but because of its décor. Deep, rich blues provided a dramatic backdrop for the parquet floor and walls lined with bookshelves. Impressive sash windows were dressed in layers of cream muslin that fell and pooled on the floor and dominating the room was a desk on which all the modern gadgets had pride of place. The computers, one laptop and one full sized, a fax machine, two telephones. And, against the only wall that was not occupied with bookcases or windows, was a long, low couch in a rich Paisley print, the beauty of which was ruined by the pillow and sheet.

  Gabriel
, she realised, was lying on said couch and had been watching her with amusement as she gawped at her surroundings.

  ‘Blame my mother and sister,’ he said, reclining with his hands folded behind his head. ‘I wanted lots of white and just enough furniture to fit the requirements of being habitable. Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth open. Sit down!’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Well, there’s only one chair available, isn’t there? Unless you want to come and perch on the side of the couch here with me?’ He patted the couch invitingly and Rose hurriedly went and sat behind the desk. Ready for action. She even pulled out the stack of letters she had brought with her and began sorting them into order of priority, waiting for him to tell her where he wanted to begin. In the meantime, she would not look at him because all that flesh was doing disastrous things to her nervous system.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?’

  ‘I’m sorry…’Rose looked at him, flustered. In her haste to avoid staring at him she had bypassed the usual pleasantries and, of course, he would pick up on that even though he himself avoided them like the plague. ‘How are you feeling, Gabriel?’

  ‘Terrible.’

  ‘You don’t look too bad,’ she risked truthfully.

  ‘That’s because I’m putting on a brave face. The fact is I’ve had a helluva night. Very restless. Tossing and turning.’

  Rose swallowed. Her thoughts wandered to Gabriel, in a big king-sized bed, powerful, naked body thrashing about. She felt faint. ‘In that case, we should finish things here as quickly as possible so that you can get some sleep! It’s the best cure there is! Where do you want to start? I’ve brought the post. I thought you might like to have a look at it…’

  ‘What I’d really like,’ Gabriel said, closing his eyes, ‘is something to eat. I know it goes beyond your job specification and it’s well within your rights to refuse…but I haven’t eaten since…hmm…maybe lunch time yesterday…’