His brows snapped together and the sculpted bow to his sensual mouth thinned. “When were you hired?”
“Nearly a year ago.”
“Interesting.” He treated her to another exacting perusal that left her flushed and feeling vulnerable and inadequate, which shouldn’t surprise her for she certainly wasn’t the type who’d appeal to this arrogant jet-setter. “You are?”
“Gemma Cardone.”
One devilishly black brow arched in a universally silent order that she expound on her role here.
She kept her smile in place and counted to twenty before appeasing his curiosity. “I am Cesare’s personal secretary.”
No emotion showed on his classically handsome face, but the expansive line of his shoulders snapped taut. “Are you in the habit of coming to work this early?”
“No,” she said honestly, for she was certain he’d discern a lie if she attempted to voice one now.
He was simply too observant as well as overwhelming to her senses. She’d sensed his dominance—no, his arrogance—at his mother’s funeral.
He’d seemed emotionless then. No, that wasn’t true. He’d seemed angry, like Etna rumbling deep and threatening to spew and destroy all.
She’d never been more aware of a man as she’d been then. She’d thought it a fluke until he’d walked through the door now and took command of the relaxed offices.
He was staring at her with eyes that were hard and nearly impossible to tear her gaze from. But she sensed his silent command for her to finish her thought. His impatient command.
Stefano Marinetti was dangerous.
It took every ounce of fortitude she could summon forth to hold her serene smile when she felt anything but composed. “I knew there would be a surfeit of correspondence to address in regard to Cesare’s heart attack and tragic loss.”
He gave a curt nod as if accepting her excuse. “That is good that you’ve taken the initiative in this delicate and most tragic matter.”
She wouldn’t lie about this. “Actually Cesare asked me to draft letters to his close friends and longtime business associates.”
“Cesare phoned you, then?” he asked, his voice as casual as if they were discussing the weather.
Even if she was good at weaving tales, it was too late to lie now. “Last night.”
“He is on strict bed rest.”
“It was a brief call,” she said, absently twirling the ring on her finger then stopping when the action drew his attention. Did anything slip past him? “We talked no more than a few minutes.”
“Did my father tell you to report to him daily?” he said, and this time there was no mistaking the steel ringing in his voice.
“No,” she said, and then certain he’d not believe the truth, asked with as much cheek as she could inflect in her tone, “Should I?”
A ghost of a smile teased those masculine lips that undoubtedly knew how to kiss a woman senseless. “Does my father call you Gemma or Ms. Cardone?”
“Cesare prefers an informal working environment.” Something Stefano would know if he hadn’t turned his back on his papa and the business years ago.
His features looked carved from stone, leaving her to guess he didn’t like the fact that she and his papa were on a first name basis. Fine, she was here to do all she could to help Cesare, not to please Stefano Marinetti.
Anger streaked through her as she thought of how much Cesare had needed help over the past nine months. If he’d only called on his son then. And what of Stefano? How much heartache could have been avoided if he’d been an attentive son?
Was he even aware of the financial troubles plaguing Marinetti Shipyard? Surely he’d heard the rumors. He should have contacted his papa then. He, with his boasted billions, should have offered to help his father.
But no, he’d waited until Cesare was grieving and in ill health before slithering back.
For Cesare’s sake, she’d count the days until Stefano took his leave. But heavens, she suspected it would be a struggle to keep her temper and her dignity around this spoiled, arrogant man.
“Very well, Gemma,” he said, her name rolling off his tongue like a caress that was so inappropriate she blushed. “As my father and I agree on this, we will continue to operate on an informal basis. Alert the department managers that I expect them in my office at two o’clock for a company meeting.”
“Today?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all.”
Stefano walked into the office and closed the door behind him with a firm click that signaled he wished privacy until then. Fine! She wanted the same.
She desperately needed it after the rush to remove Cesare’s documents followed by her first meeting with Stefano.
She dropped onto her chair, shaken and angry and so relieved that she’d have a moment’s peace. But how long would it last?
Too long!
He was a handsome, virile man. A handsome, virile, arrogant man who was taking over and placing her in a very precarious position.
That’s what she needed to concentrate on. His unrea-sonable demands. And the fact that his father hadn’t trusted him with his deepest secret.
Oh, Cesare! She’d do anything for him. She’d done it already. But she’d do more.
Her unwanted attraction to Stefano had temporarily blind-sided her. Nothing more. She’d be better prepared the next time she was in his company.
“Scusi, Gemma,” he said, startling her with his nearness which came far too soon for her liking. “A moment, please.”
Never mind that her name rolled off his tongue like an endearment and feathered sensual awareness up her bare arms. So much for her vow to remain unaffected by him.
She forced a calm demeanor she surely didn’t feel. “What do you need?”
A smile teased his mouth which was at odds with the hot look he cast her. “Would you help me make coffee? I can never do it right.”
And he thought she could? She bit back that question and the sarcastic tone that begged to be loosed. “If you wish.”
“Grazie.”
She rose and smoothed down her skirt which had the annoying habit of creeping up her thighs. His heated gaze watched her every movement and she damned the warmth flooding her face as much as she damned the fact he had a knack for keeping her on edge. Purposely, she would bet!
Make his coffee indeed, she thought as she went about the simple task. Yes, she always prepared a pot for Cesare. She would do the same for his infuriating son from now on—before he arrived at the office.
“How do you take it?” she asked.
“Ristretto.”
She wasn’t surprised he preferred his strong and black. But she hadn’t expected his attentiveness to her every move. It was unnerving in the extreme.
“You make it look so easy,” he said when she had the coffee on and the rich aroma began filling the room.
She glanced up at him and was instantly ensnared by the hot promise in his eyes. Good grief, was he flirting with her?
Of course he was. All Italian men flirted, and Stefano was reputed to be an outrageous flirt. She’d just not had the opportunity to witness it before now.
“Is