by Abby Green
It was her mention of her relationship with her father just a short while before that had brought it back to him. She’d told him then of how one night, when she’d been about six, she’d not been able to sleep. She’d come downstairs and found her father weeping silently over a picture of his late wife—Sam’s mother.
Sam had said, ‘He was talking to her...the picture...asking her what to do with me, asking her how he could cope because I was a girl. He said, “If she was a boy I’d know what to do...but I don’t know what to do or say to her.”’
Sam had sighed deeply. ‘So I went upstairs to the bathroom that night, found a pair of scissors and cut all my hair off. It used to fall to my waist. When our housekeeper saw me in the morning she screamed and dropped a plate.’
Sam’s mouth had twisted sadly. ‘My father, though, he didn’t even notice—too distracted with a problem he was trying to solve. I thought I could try to be a son for him...’
Rafaele could remember a falling sensation. Sam’s inherent lack of self-confidence in her innate sensuality had all made sense. He too had known what it was like to have an absentee father. Even though he’d spent time with his father growing up, the man had been so embittered by his wife leaving him that he’d been no use to Rafaele and had rarely expressed much interest in his son. In some small part Rafaele knew that even resurrecting the family car industry had been a kind of effort to connect with his father.
It had been that weekend that Rafaele had let Sam stay in his palazzo. It had been that weekend that he’d postponed an important business trip because he’d wanted her too much to leave. And it was after that weekend, once he’d gained some distance from her, that he’d realised just how dangerous she was to him.
And he’d just proved that nothing had changed. She was still just as dangerous and he must never forget it.
* * *
The following day Milo was practically bursting with excitement at being in Rafaele’s car. It was the latest model of the Falcone road car—the third to be rolled out since Rafaele had taken control of the bankrupt company.
It was completely impractical as far as children went, but Rafaele had surprised Sam. She’d seen that he’d got a child’s car seat from somewhere and had it fitted into the backseat. Every time Sam looked around Milo just grinned at her like a loon. She shook her head ruefully as Rafaele negotiated out of the driveway and onto the main road with confident ease.
Sam tried to ignore his big hands on the wheel and gearstick. But there was something undeniably sexy about a man who handled a car well—and especially one like this, which was more like an art form than a car. Rafaele was a confident driver, and not the kind of person who felt the need for speed just to impress.
Happy sounds were coming from the back of the car—Milo imitating the engine. Sam felt a flutter near her heart and blocked it out. Dangerous. She still felt tense after that impassioned exchange the previous evening. Predictably, she hadn’t been able to sleep well and she felt fuzzy now. She’d avoided looking directly at Rafaele this morning over breakfast, preferring to let Milo take centre stage, demanding the attention of this new, charismatic person in their midst.
Rafaele had seemed equally keen to be distracted, and Sam could only wonder if he’d taken anything of what she’d said to heart. Was he prepared to forgive her at all?
Sam noticed that Milo had gone silent behind them and looked back to see that he’d fallen asleep. Rafaele glanced her way and Sam quickly looked forward again, saying a little too breathlessly for her liking, ‘He was so excited about today... He doesn’t really nap any more but sometimes it catches up with him.’
She was babbling, and the thought of increased proximity to Rafaele when she started working with him tomorrow made her feel panicky. She steeled herself and turned to his proud profile. The profile of a great line of aristocratic Italian ancestors.
‘Look, Rafaele...about me working at the factory...’ She saw his jaw clench and rushed on. ‘You said yourself last night that you’re only doing it to keep me where you can see me. I can work perfectly well from the university. After last night I can’t see how our working together will improve things.’
His hands clenched on the wheel now, and Sam looked at them, so strong and large. She recalled how hot they’d felt exploring her body.
Distracted, she almost missed it when Rafaele said in a low voice, with clear reluctance, ‘I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t entirely true.’
Sam gulped and looked back at him. ‘It wasn’t?’ Somewhere a tiny flame lit inside her, and against every atom of self-preservation she couldn’t douse it.
‘After all,’ he reminded her, ‘I contacted you about working for me before I knew about Milo and you refused to listen.’
The panic she’d felt then was still vivid. ‘Yes,’ she said faintly. ‘I...it was a shock to hear from you.’
Rafaele slanted her a look and said dryly, ‘You don’t say.’ He looked at the road again. ‘But the fact remains that I knew about your research. You were mentioned in an article in Automotive Monthly and I realised that you were leading the field in research into kinetic energy recovery systems.’
The little flame inside Sam sputtered. Of course he hadn’t been motivated by anything other than professional interest. ‘I see,’ she responded. ‘And that’s why you wanted to contact me?’
Rafaele shrugged minutely, his broad shoulders moving sinuously under his leather jacket, battered and worn to an almost sensual texture. Dammit... Sam cursed herself. Why did everything have to return to all things physical even when he was wounding her with his words? She looked away resolutely.
He continued, ‘I knew we were setting up in England, I figured you were still based here... It seemed like a logical choice to ask you to work for us again...’
Out of the corner of Sam’s eye she saw Rafaele’s hands tighten on the wheel again. His jaw clenched and then released.
‘About last night—you were right. I agree that the past is past and we need to move on. I don’t want Milo to pick up on the tension between us any more than you do.’
Something dangerous swooped inside Sam at hearing him acknowledge this. She recognised the mammoth effort he must be making to concede this.
‘Thank you,’ she said huskily. ‘And I’ll have to trust that you won’t do anything to hurt Milo.’
The car was stopped at a red light now and Rafaele looked at her. ‘Yes, you will. Hurting my son is the last thing in the world I want to do. It won’t happen.’
The fierce light in his eyes awed Sam into silence. Eventually, she nodded, her throat feeling tight. ‘Okay.’
A car horn tooted from behind them, and with unhurried nonchalance Rafaele released her from his gaze and moved on.
After a while Rafaele said in a low voice, ‘And you will be coming to work with me, Sam...because I want you to.’
After a long moment Sam replied again. ‘Okay.’ In her wayward imagination she fancied that something had finally shifted between them, alleviating the ever-present tension.
They were silent for much of the rest of the journey, but something inside Sam had lessened slightly. And yet conversely she felt more vulnerable than ever.
She noticed that they were pulling into what looked like a stately home and raised a questioning brow at Rafaele, who answered, ‘I asked my assistant to look up some things. It’s an open house at weekends and they have a working farm. I thought Milo might like to see it.’
Milo had woken up a short while before, and from the backseat came an excited, ‘Look, Mummy! Horsies!’
Sam saw Rafaele look to his son in the rearview mirror and the way his mouth curved into a smile. Her chest tightened and she explained, ‘It’s his other favourite thing in the world apart from cars. You’re killing two birds with one stone.’
Rafaele look
ed at her for a long moment, his eyes lingering on her mouth until it tingled. Sam grew hot and flustered. Why was he teasing her with looks like this when he couldn’t be less interested? Was it just something he turned on automatically when any woman with a pulse was nearby? It made her think of that angry kiss—how instantly she’d gone up in flames when he’d only been proving a point.
‘Shouldn’t you look where you’re driving?’ She sounded like a prim schoolmistress.
Rafaele eventually looked away, but not before purring with seductive arrogance, ‘Cara, I could drive blindfolded and not crash.’
This was what she remembered. Rafaele’s easy and lethal brand of charm. Disgusted with herself, Sam faced forward and crossed her arms.
When he had parked and they’d got out, Milo clearly didn’t know what to do first: stand and looking lovingly at the car, or go and see the animals. For a second he looked genuinely upset, overwhelmed with all these exciting choices. It made guilt lance Sam—fresh guilt—because the local park or swimming pool was about as exciting as it had got so far for Milo.
To Sam’s surprise, before she could intervene, Rafaele bent down to Milo’s level and said, ‘Piccolino, the car will still be here when we get back...so why don’t we see the animals first, hmm?’
Milo’s face cleared like a cloud passing over the sun and he smiled, showing his white baby teeth. ‘Okey-dokey, horsies first.’ And then he put his hand in Rafaele’s and started pulling him the direction he wanted to go.
Sam caught the unguarded moment of emotion in Rafaele’s eyes and her chest tightened at its significance. It was the first time Milo had reached out to touch him.
She followed them, doing up her slimline parka jacket and tried not to be affected by the image of the tall, powerful man, alongside the tiny, sturdy figure with identical dark hair.
Within a few hours Sam could see the beginnings of the hero-worship situation she’d predicted unfolding before her eyes. Milo had barely let go of Rafaele’s hand and was now in his arms, pointing at the pigs in a mucky pen.
She was watching Rafaele for signs that this situation was getting old very quickly—she knew how demanding and energetic Milo could be—but she couldn’t find any. Again she was stunned at his apparent easing into this whole situation.
Rafaele looked at her then and Sam coloured, more affected by seeing him with Milo in his arms than she cared to admit.
He looked grim and said, ‘I think now is a good time.’
Instantly Sam understood. He wanted to tell Milo who he was. Panic flooded Sam. Until Milo knew Rafaele was his father it was as if she still had a way out—the possibility that this wasn’t real. It was all a dream. But it wasn’t, and she knew she couldn’t fight him. He deserved for his son to know. And Milo deserved it too.
Jerkily, feeling clammy, Sam nodded her head. ‘Okay.’
So when Milo had finished inspecting all the animals exhaustively they found a quiet spot to eat the food they’d got from the house’s café and Sam explained gently to Milo that Rafaele was his father.
She could sense Rafaele’s tension and her heart ached for him. Her conscience lambasted her again.
With all the unpredictability of a three-year-old though, Milo just blinked and looked from her to Rafaele before saying, ‘Can we look at the horsies again?’
To his credit, Rafaele didn’t look too surprised but when Milo had clambered off his chair to go and look at something she said, ‘It’s probably a lot for him to take in—’
But Rafaele cut her off, saying coolly, ‘I know he took it in. I remember how much three-year-olds see and understand.’
He got up to follow Milo before Sam could make sense of his words and what he’d meant by them.
* * *
When they were back in the car Milo began chattering incessantly in the back.
‘Rafelli, did you see the pigs? Rafelli, did you see the horsies and the goats? And the chickens?’
Sam looked out of the window, overcome with a surge of emotion. It was done. Rafaele truly was his father now. No going back. Tears pricked her eyes as the enormity of everything set in. She’d kept Milo from his own father for so long. Guilt was hot and acrid in her gut.
Suddenly her hand was taken in a much bigger, warmer one and her heart stopped.
‘Sam?’
Panicked that he’d see her distress, Sam took her hand from his and rubbed at her eye, avoiding looking at him. Breezily she said, ‘I’m fine. It’s just some dust or something in my eye.’
CHAPTER SIX
TWO WEEKS LATER Sam was trying to concentrate on test results and threw her pen down in disgust when her brain just refused to work. She got up from her desk in her decent-sized office at the factory and paced, rolling her head to ease out kinks as she did so.
It felt as if an age had passed since that day at the stately home. Within a few days Milo had been tentatively calling Rafaele Daddy, much to Bridie’s beaming approval, Rafaele’s delight and Sam’s increasing sense of vulnerability.
Bridie had also paved the way for Sam to go to work with Rafaele every day, assuring her that she had nothing to worry about where Milo’s care was concerned. So in the past two weeks a routine had developed where Rafaele took Milo to playschool, either with or without Sam, and then they left for work and returned in time for Milo’s supper. Sam had put her foot down, though, and insisted that she still only do a half-day on Wednesdays as that had been her routine with Bridie.
And also she felt the need to establish some control when it felt as if Rafaele had comprehensively taken everything over. They’d even come home one evening to find a chef in the kitchen and Rafaele saying defensively something about it being unfair to expect Bridie to cook for them as well as taking care of Milo.
Needless to say Sam could see that Bridie was not far behind Milo in the hero-worship stakes. Most evenings now Rafaele tucked Milo into bed and read him a story, making Sam feel redundant for the first time in a long time.
In the middle of all this change and turmoil was the sheer joy Sam felt at being back working on research within an environment where the actual cars and engines were only a short walk away. The scale of Rafaele’s English factory had taken her breath away. It proved just how far he’d come even in three and a half years. Professionally she would have given her right arm to be part of this process, and now she was overseeing a group of mechanics and engineers, focusing their expertise on the most exciting developments in automotive technology, thanks to Rafaele’s unlimited investment.
But overshadowing everything was the fact that she was working for Rafaele. Back in a place where she’d never expected or wanted to be. She felt as if she was that girl all over again—that naive student, obsessed with her boss. Watching out for him. Aware of him. Blushing when their gazes met. It was galling and humiliating. Especially when Rafaele appeared so cool and seemed to be making every effort to steer well clear of Sam. Only addressing her in groups of people. Never seeking her out alone.
Even on their car rides to the factory and back their conversation centred mainly around Milo or work.
Her hands clenched to fists now, even as her whole body seemed to ache. She was glad. She was. She didn’t want history to repeat itself. Not in a million years. It had almost been easier when Rafaele had hated her; now that they were in this uneasy truce it was so much more confusing to deal with.
Sam noticed the clock on the wall then, and saw how late it was. Normally Rafaele’s assistant would have rung to inform her that he was leaving by now. Giving up any pretence that she could continue to work while waiting, Sam decided to pack up and find him herself. She would inform him she was going home. He’d offered her one of the cars if she wished, so now perhaps it was time to assert some more independence from him.
Heading for his office, she saw it was quiet all ar
ound, most of the other staff and the main engineers and mechanics having left. His own secretary’s desk was clear and empty in the plush anteroom of his office.
She hesitated for a second outside his door and then knocked. After a few seconds she heard him call abruptly, ‘Come in.’
* * *
Rafaele glanced up from his phone call, frowning slightly at the interruption, and then when Sam walked in his whole body reacted, making a complete mockery of any illusion of control over his rogue hormones. She stopped in her tracks and made a motion to leave again, seeing he was on the phone, but everything within him rejected that and he held up his finger, indicating for her to wait.
She closed the door behind her and he couldn’t stop the anticipation spiking in his blood. For two weeks now Rafaele had thought he was doing a good job of avoiding her. But it didn’t matter how much space he put between them; he saw her everywhere. Worst of all was in the house at night—that cosy, domestic house, with his son sleeping just down the hall—when all he could think about doing was going into Sam’s room, stripping her bare and sinking deep between her long legs.
His body was hardening even now, shaming him with his lack of control. The person on the other end of the phone continued talking but they might as well have been talking the language of the Dodo for all Rafaele heard. His gaze travelled down Sam’s back and legs hungrily, taking in her slim build and the sweet lush curve of her buttocks as she turned away to look at a model of one of the first cars he’d designed.
When she turned back slightly he could see the profile swell of her breasts and immediately a memory came back, of spilling drops of Prosecco onto one pebbled nipple, making it grow hard— Sweat broke out on Rafaele’s upper lip. This was untenable.
Abruptly he terminated the phone conversation, giving up any pretence of control. Sam had turned around to face him and he asked, more curtly than he’d intended, ‘What do you want?’
Her face flushed and Rafaele pushed down the lurch of his conscience. Damn her and the way she did that, making him feel like a heel.