Then there were the papers he wanted her to get out of his safe! How was she supposed to do that now the great man was already firmly entrenched in Edward’s office?
In Edward’s office, she repeated and felt the dizzying sway of her heart as it took her off on another tangent. A tangent to do with Giancarlo Cardinale and Edward’s other instruction. Don’t fall in love with him, he’d said. Well, she saw no danger in that actuality happening.
But falling into bed with him was an entirely different thing.
Giancarlo was at Edward’s desk working on a portable desktop computer when she took his coffee in. Freshly ground, Italian blend, just as he’d requested. He didn’t look up, and she didn’t speak as she carried the tray over to place it down by his elbow.
But just the sight of him sitting there was enough to make her nerve-ends crackle. I’ll get over it, she told herself, using Edward’s advice to strengthen her backbone. Like all surprise situations, the novelty always wears off after a while. It just requires overexposure.
Outside the bright February sun was just beginning to stream in through the window behind him now. And she couldn’t resist pausing to watch the way the pale gold sunbeams poured light onto his black silk head and over his broad shoulders before filtering down his arms to the neatly kept tips of his long brown fingers.
Was there nothing about this man she didn’t like? she wondered helplessly. Even the view of his nose from this new angle didn’t seem to make it any less appealing. Her fingers itched to follow its arrogant contours, then slide lazily towards his—
Oh, stop it! she scolded herself and, without giving a second thought as to why she was doing it, she walked over to the window and angled the blinds so the light no longer hit him.
‘I like the sun,’ he remarked with an abruptness that had her turning to frown at the back of his bent head. ‘My Sicilian blood has an unquenchable need for it.’
‘Is your computer screen Sicilian too?’ she quizzed, making light of his remark because she could see no reason for the sudden change in manner.
He didn’t get the joke. ‘Open the blinds,’ he clipped, a long finger stabbing almost angrily at a button on his keyboard that sent off into cyberspace a document he couldn’t possibly have been able to read on his sun-blanched screen.
Without a word, she did as she was told, grimacingly aware that the atmosphere had most definitely turned frosty, though she hadn’t the slightest idea as to why it had. See, the novelty is already wearing off, she told herself as she turned away from the window, feeling absolutely no chemical reaction at all to that particularly autocratic tone.
‘Any messages?’ he queried.
She had taken one step only and was suddenly freezing to the point that she actually stopped breathing. ‘No,’ she answered, having to force the lie up through her thickened throat.
‘Not even from Edward?’ he prompted. ‘I expected him to put in one call at least, to check everything was all right here…’
Her pulse began to race. ‘No, no call from Edward,’ she denied.
Without any warning he sat back in the chair, then swung it round until he was facing her. With the sun now hitting him full in his face, his narrowed eyes seemed to glitter accusingly as they raked over her. Tension began to rise—a hard, tight, prickly kind of tension that had nothing to do with the man’s sensual pull, but with the air of menace he seemed to be transmitting from every perfectly constructed cell.
‘But if he rings, you will inform me immediately, hmm?’ he probed, so softly that she hoped it was her own guilty conscience that was making her feel as if she was on trial here—and not that silken tone.
‘Yes,’ she lied yet again. ‘Of course,’ she then added for good innocent measure, trying desperately to sound like the coolly detached and businesslike assistant she was supposed to be.
‘Good.’ Giancarlo smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile—in fact it sent an icy chill chasing through her. Then without another word he swung back to the desk to continue with what he had been doing.
It was a silent dismissal she was more than happy to comply with, considering the huge lie she had just told him. Setting her tingling legs moving, she walked around the desk and began treading the expanse of grey carpet, which seemed to spread like a mine-infested ocean out in front of her, threatening to blow her lies up in her face each time she put a foot down.
She hated liars, she always had ever since the day she’d discovered how much her own mother had lied to her for most of her life. So to find herself doing it actually hurt a very sensitive part in her that she knew she was going to find difficult to pacify.
‘What is Howard Fiske’s extension number?’
This second question reached her at about halfway across the room. She told him. He murmured a thank-you. She walked on, thinking only of getting away so she could sit down somewhere away from prying eyes and grimly justify—if only to herself—what she had just done.
‘And the combination to Edward’s safe,’ he then prompted. ‘Do you know that also?’
At which point the excruciating tension she was beginning to feel threatened to swallow her whole. ‘Don’t you know it?’ she asked, frowning because she was recalling what Edward had said.
‘Edward wrote it down for me,’ he confirmed. ‘But I do not have it on me right at this moment.’
Relief fluttered through her. If he hadn’t got the combination with him, then she had time to get Edward’s papers out of harm’s way—so long as she could grab the opportunity to do so.
‘I can’t help you there, I’m sorry,’ she apologised, comforting herself with the weak excuse that her reply hadn’t been a full lie—only a half one. She couldn’t help him, and she was sorry. But she was feeling as if the combination were presently burning itself in block letters across her guilty face and all he had to do was get her to turn and face him so that he could read it!
‘Maybe Howard knows it,’ he murmured.
‘Maybe he does,’ she agreed, sure in the knowledge that Howard didn’t know. Then she whipped quickly through the door before he could come up with any more uncomfortable questions…
Giancarlo Cardinale watched her go with his head fizzing on the very edge of a violent eruption. Lying little witch, he was thinking angrily. Lying, cheating, beautiful witch! he tagged on hotly as he watched that tight rear-end disappear through the door and felt his fingers itch to go chasing after it.
‘You will get yours, Miss Deyton,’ he promised. ‘One day soon you will most certainly get yours.’
Picking up the phone, he punched in Howard Fiske’s number. Five minutes later he was putting the phone down again and feeling downright miffed on so many fronts that he couldn’t make his mind up which took priority.
Howard didn’t know the combination to Edward’s safe, which didn’t really surprise him, or the deceitful Miss Deyton would have gone to pieces, he was sure. But Miss Deyton had not gone to pieces. She had tossed off her airy replies with guileful ease! Which meant he was going to have to keep a very keen eye on her if he didn’t want that safe opening today without him knowing it.
And Howard himself was another problem he was going to have to deal with. Having fed Giancarlo all the ammunition he needed to do something about Edward’s little office affair, Howard had expected him to come here and get rid of Natalia without any compunction. Now the mean-mouthed swine was angry because Giancarlo was refusing to play it his way.
What was it with Howard, anyway? he suddenly asked himself as he got up to go and stand by the window. Did the man fancy Natalia himself—was that it? Was his attitude sour grapes because Edward was enjoying something Howard would like to enjoy himself?
Something hot began to burn in his stomach, and he knew exactly what was causing it. It was the sudden image of not one, but two, middle-aged lechers pawing her smooth white flesh, while she let them—because she liked it.
His hand snaked up, and with a violent tug on the pull-cord he cut out that
image by snapping shut the blinds he had insisted Natalia opened.
Petty or what? he asked himself. Petty—yes, he admitted. Angry—yes. With Edward, with Howard—with himself for all wanting the same woman!
Well, one third of the competition had already been removed from the picture. And another third could go the same way quick enough, he decided as he turned to snatch up the phone again.
Ten minutes after that particular call, and he was beginning to feel back in control. By tomorrow Howard Fiske and his filthy mouth would be flying to Milan to spend a couple of weeks smouldering in frustration beneath the wing of Giancarlo Cardinale’s second in command, learning how his job should be done. By the time he was due back, Natalia Deyton would be so much Giancarlo’s woman that Howard would only have to glance at her to know that the problem had been dealt with—Giancarlo’s way.
Yes, he felt a whole lot better about that little scenario…
She’d forgotten to take the requested files in to him. Seeing them sitting there, still neatly stacked on her desk where she had placed them before taking in his coffee, made her want to hit something in utter frustration—because it meant she was now going to have to go back in there.
And she just didn’t want to. She didn’t want to face another barrage of awkward questions, or face the man himself, for that matter! Giancarlo was like a ride on a roller coaster, she likened. One minute rocketing her into a steep dive through all the senses, the next he was hurling her into a corkscrew twist, making her struggle with her own guilty secrets. It was all so very precarious that she dared not so much as breathe in case she caused the whole thing to come crashing down around her!
The intercom on her desk began to beep. ‘Those files, Miss Deyton?’ drawled her tormentor with a coolness that did nothing to ease her turmoil.
That sexy voice should be X-rated, she decided as she flicked a switch to acknowledge the reminder with what she hoped was a matching cool. Then, taking a deep breath, she gathered up the armful of files and began walking back towards that connecting door, which was beginning to resemble the entrance to a torture chamber…
The moment she stepped through it, she sensed the change in the atmosphere. The blinds had been drawn, blocking out the shafts of sunlight which had given the room such a sharp edge before.
And he wasn’t where she’d expected him to be, she realised, glancing at the empty chair behind the desk before beginning to scan the new softer light until she located him over on the other side of the room. He was sitting comfortably stretched out on one of Edward’s soft grey leather sofas with his dark head thrown back, his eyes closed and with his feet propped up on the low beech-wood coffee-table. The tray she had brought in earlier now resided beside his feet—and, like his jacket, his tie had now disappeared and the top couple of buttons on his shirt had been tugged free.
Was he intending to complete a full strip before the afternoon was over? she found herself speculating sarcastically.
Then wished she hadn’t thought such a stupid thing when, on a sudden rush to the head, she found herself picturing him stretched out there naked. Brown skin, long, powerfully muscled legs, a hard-toned, superbly built masculine torso, she saw in that single fevered flash of a moment. But it did not stop there. Oh, no, because she was also picturing the look in his eyes as he waited for her to join him in the self-same naked state.
‘Come and join me,’ he murmured.
She almost jumped out of her skin! As it was she reacted violently enough to send the top file sliding off the pile so it slithered to the floor in a spill of white paper. In a flurry of pure wit-scattering dismay, she bent to place the rest of the files on the floor then began gathering together the papers with fingers that had lost the ability to co-ordinate.
How could you—how could you? She was railing at herself, relieved to have the diversion so she could hide her flaming cheeks, which she knew without a doubt were displaying every naughty thought running through her wicked head!
Never ever had she indulged in wild fantasies over any man—so why start now with this one of all the men she could have chosen?
‘Here, let me…’
A pair of black leather shoes appeared in her vision. Then a pair of dark silk worsted-covered knees as he bent into a very male squat. She felt ready to self-incinerate when her eyes began flickering along his inner thighs. Dragging them away again, she made a reckless grab at a piece of paper—as a long brown hand did the same.
Skin touched skin. Electricity went crackling up her arm with such clamouring speed that it almost knocked her right off balance! She let out a gasp; there was no containing it, nor the sharp way that her head came up. Blue eyes clashed helplessly with deep dark brown.
After that there was stillness, a complete and utter stillness with hand touching hand and eyes holding eyes, swapping a knowledge that neither was doing anything to disguise.
No, her common sense was trying to advise her. Don’t let this happen. It’s wrong, it’s dangerous, it’s too darn complicated to warrant taking the risk.
But he’s so irresistible, her weaker self whispered. Exciting, beguiling, utterly compelling. She even felt herself leaning closer—just as she had done the last time she had looked deeply into his eyes…
Somewhere in the distance a phone began to ring. It was her salvation. And, good grief, but she needed saving! she acknowledged as, on a flurry of embarrassment, she withdrew her hand and scrambled to her feet, then fled back into her own office, leaving him still squatting there, with his dark eyes following her every single step of the way.
The call was an internal query that took all her powers of concentration to answer without sounding drunk. By the time she came back, the files had been stacked on the coffee-table and Giancarlo Cardinale was poring over the contents of one of them.
‘Come and sit down,’ he instructed without a single inflection in his tone to so much as hint at what had just passed between them.
She moved on legs that were still feeling weak and unsteady, over to the sofa on the opposite side of the table.
‘No, not there,’ he said. ‘Sit here, next to me so we can look at these together.’
Together, she repeated to herself. What a buzzword. What a provocatively tantalising buzzword. And as she moved to perch herself stiffly on the cushion next to his she found herself wishing that the man were as ugly as sin.
‘Coffee?’ he offered.
‘I don’t drink it,’ she politely refused.
An eyebrow tweaked as he scanned the typed print on the piece of paper he was reading. ‘What—never?’ he asked, but she had a feeling the raised eyebrow was mocking the stiff way she was sitting there.
‘Sometimes—after dinner maybe.’ She shrugged, stubbornly deciding that it was time to take every single word he spoke at its absolute face value. No hearing hidden meanings, no looking for anything other than a professional boss-assistant relationship.
‘A cup-of-tea girl,’ he presumed, placing one piece of paper aside to pick up another.
‘I prefer water, if you must know,’ she told him.
‘A woman with simple tastes, then.’
‘Yes.’ She nodded—very firmly because she was a woman of simple tastes. And Giancarlo Cardinale was not simple at all. He was a rare delicacy only the very rich or the very reckless would consider trying. She was neither rich nor reckless. In fact, she was the most cautious person she knew!
Which only made her reaction to Giancarlo Cardinale all the more perturbing. It just wasn’t like her.
‘Now…’ he said on a complete change of manner ‘…explain to me why this company needs the skills of marketing experts when the product they produce virtually sells itself…’
Peering over his arm, she saw the famous Fillens logo, and smiled ruefully at his comment. ‘Geoffrey Fillen and Edward were at school together,’ she explained. ‘Fillens have been using Edward’s marketing skills for as long as he has been in business.’
‘Ah, the
old school network.’ Giancarlo grimaced understandingly. ‘Lucky Edward. Does the business from this company also come via the same route?’ he asked, indicating towards a different file.
After that, she became engrossed in a lesson on the astuteness of this man’s business mind as he began picking out the base-root foundation upon which Edward had built his company.
And as the afternoon wore on she found herself becoming more and more fascinated by Edward’s brother-in-law as he displayed qualities that by far outweighed the merely physical. He was shrewd, he was quick, he was incredibly logical when it came to matters of business.
He possessed a low-pitched and easy telephone manner that clearly kept his listeners safely assured that, though he might not be where they wanted him to be, he was still accessible and in control, with his finger most firmly on the pulse of everything beneath the Cardinale Group umbrella.
She even knew when he was talking to his secretary because his tone grew firmer, sharper, more commanding—though she didn’t understand a word because he was speaking in Italian. A language that worked on the senses like alcohol, sluicing out tensions and replacing them with warm, soft feelings of—
Oh, no, not again. With a jerk she fixed her attention on the stream of notes he’d had her taking. The phone went down—and rang again almost immediately. Without a pause he switched from Italian to English, and began a discussion about corporate profit projections that left her completely flummoxed.
Dynamic was the word she was toying with when he suddenly sat down beside her again. Heat sizzled between them, but she grimly ignored the stomach-curling effect it had on her.
By five o’clock, open files lay scattered all about them and the coffee-table, and the lights were on to supplement the loss of sunlight seeping in through the blinds.
Natalia was beginning to fade a little, but Giancarlo wasn’t. Like a human dynamo, the more he found to delve into, the more invigorated he became.
So another hour went by, and she was kneeling on the carpet by the coffee-table, carefully feeding paper back into the files he had scrutinised and finished with, when yet another phone call took him striding back to the desk.
A Sicilian Seduction Page 3