For a moment she almost laughed until she realised that he was deadly serious. ‘Don’t be so absurd, Riccardo.’
His fingers tightened around her wrist. ‘But I saw you on my way into the office. Fluttering your eyelashes at him. Wiggling your hips in the way a woman does when she is aware of her own sexual power.’
And despite the ludicrous nature of his accusation, Angie could feel the urgent escalation of her heart and the now thready flutter of her pulse beneath his fingers. Could he feel it, too? she wondered. Was he as affected by her touch as she was by his? Quickly, she snatched her hand away—terrified at how quickly that brief, almost contemptuous contact could still make her melt with longing. ‘You’re being ridiculous!’
‘You think so? Yet I recognise all too well the signs of desire in a man.’ His gaze was steady, but inside he was angry. With himself, more than anyone—because she seemed to be showing a remarkable sangfroid he was far from feeling. He wanted to storm round to the other side of his desk and kiss her until she begged him to take her. He wanted to lose himself in her sweet softness one more time…Instead, he glared at her. ‘Who knows? Perhaps I am not the only recipient of your undeniably sweet favours.’
Angie stared at him in disbelief. And yet—could she blame him for making such an accusation? Hadn’t she just fallen into bed with him, with nothing in the way of real wooing? He wasn’t to know that there had only ever been one lover in her life, and that had been a bit of a disaster. ‘You…really…really think that, Riccardo?’
He didn’t know what to think; the rule-book seemed to have been torn up and flung out of the window during that inexplicably erotic night with her. And he was behaving in a way which was completely out of character. As if he cared what she did!
He shrugged. ‘It is none of my business what you do or who you associate with. You must have all the boyfriends you wish. You are a free agent.’ There was a pause. ‘As am I.’
And this hurt almost as much as anything else he had said—his precise words making it patently clear that their one night really had been one night. Well, she would not react. He would never know how much she cared for him. How much she had cared for him, she corrected herself silently.
‘I know that, Riccardo. And if you don’t mind—I’d prefer not to discuss what happened before Christmas. I thought we’d already decided that.’ Or rather, he had decided it. She gave him a thin smile. ‘It was unfortunate, yes—a mistake which should never be repeated—so the sooner it’s forgotten, the better. Don’t you agree?’
For a moment, he was completely taken aback. That was supposed to be his line. He was the one who erected boundaries in his relationships and other people were the ones who fell in with his wishes. And she was daring to call it a mistake? A mistake to have spent the night in the arms of Riccardo Castellari! For a moment he was tempted to go round there and take her in his arms and kiss her and then let her tell him it was a mistake. As if she could! But he did not need to prove his sexual power to anyone—least of all to himself. And wasn’t it easier this way? With Angie taking the whole episode in her stride—even if it was only an act and secretly she was longing for his kiss once more?
‘It’s forgotten. It is of no consequence,’ he drawled, with a careless shrug. ‘Now get me all the paperwork on the Posara account, would you? And after that I’d like you to organise a conference call with Zurich about the Close merger. Oh, and can you sort out a fitting for the suit I’m wearing to my sister’s wedding?’
‘My pleasure,’ she answered tightly as she walked over towards the filing cabinet.
For the rest of the day, they barely spoke—except when it was impossible not to—and Angie buried herself in her work, staying on late in the office after Riccardo had departed to get ready for some fancy black-tie dinner which was taking place at Somerset House, with its beautiful ice rink and views of the river.
Was he taking some other woman to it? she wondered jealously as sat poring over the job advertisements. Of course he was! As if a man like Riccardo Castellari would ever go to a do like that on his own.
She thought of the long journey home and the cold little apartment which awaited her. The day she’d just spent—trying her best to be professional but unable to ignore the tension which had been sizzling across the office between her and Riccardo, no matter how much they’d both kept their distance, circling round each other like two wary animals.
How could she bear to exist in that kind of atmosphere—while his imposing presence mocked her with the pleasures he had given her, which were destined never to be repeated? The simple answer was that she couldn’t.
Staring at the blank screen, Angie began composing a letter of application with a grim new determination.
‘WOULD you mind stepping into the office for a moment, Angie?’
Angie looked up to see the unfamiliar sight of her boss standing at the door of the staffroom—a place he rarely visited—and instantly there was a buzz of conversation as every single woman in the room sat up straight. She had been sitting chatting to Alicia because the rain was lashing down too hard to even think of going outside during her lunch-hour and she wasn’t expecting Riccardo back in the office until later on. His black hair was spattered with rain and so was his dark cashmere coat. And he had a look of pure, dark fury on his face that set off warning bells deep inside her.
She gave him a slightly uneasy smile—and gestured to her half-eaten sandwich. ‘Sure. Do you mind if I just—?’
‘Why don’t you bring it with you?’ he snapped. ‘I want to talk to you now.’
Angie flushed as she stood up, picking up the rest of her lunch and dropping it in the bin, trying to ignore the interested sympathy in Alicia’s eyes and the exchanged glances of the other secretaries. It was humiliating to be spoken to like that—especially in front of other people. And especially after she’d had to field so many embarrassing questions about what it had been like to have been given a lift home in Riccardo’s chauffeur-driven car after the Christmas party.
Ever since the new year, she had been given a crash-course in evasion—she couldn’t bear to think of it as lying. But what else could she do other than giving fudging, half-truth replies to an impressionable young girl like Alicia? Coming out and admitting that she’d spent a passionate night with the boss was hardly portraying herself as the ideal role model to one of the junior staff, was it?
She followed Riccardo out of the staffroom, trying to keep up with his determined stride, but his long legs meant that he far outpaced her.
‘Is something wrong?’ she puffed, when finally they reached his penthouse office.
‘Shut the door,’ he said ominously.
Angie swallowed. ‘Riccardo—’
‘I said, shut the door.’
Hands trembling, she obeyed him, looking up at him with some inexplicable feeling of dread building inside her as he hung up his rain-spattered coat. ‘Has something happened?’ she questioned.
Black eyes flicked over her. At the way the fabric of her dress clung to her breasts. ‘Damned right it has.’
Her brow creased with anxiety. ‘Nothing to do with the family, I hope.’
He glared down at her. Wasn’t that just like Angie to worry about someone else? But now he found himself wondering how much of her supposedly soft nature had just been an act—concealing a person he was fast discovering he didn’t know at all. And maybe he didn’t. Because, if Riccardo was being honest, hadn’t the very macho side of his nature been slightly appalled at the ease with which Angie had switched from secretary to lover?
Hadn’t