Her Italian Boss

by Lynne Graham

  ‘Have you told little Rose yet about Mike moving to the States?’

  Natalie rubbed the faint worried indentation between her feathery eyebrows and shook her head. ‘Nope. I suppose I should before the wedding?’ What am I doing asking a childless bachelor advice on child-rearing when I already know the answer? she thought begrudgingly. ‘But I just don’t know how she’s going to react.’ Liar! She knew Rose would react like any other five-year-old when she learnt the dad who spoilt her rotten every other weekend—when he turned up—was moving halfway around the world—badly!

  Luke shifted uncomfortably. ‘Actually it’s about the wedding I wanted to have a word, Nat.’

  His next words confirmed that the shiver of apprehension snaking down her spine was justified.

  ‘I hate to do this to you, but Rafe has put me on the Ellis account; he’s sending me to New York for a couple of weeks.’ He tried to sound casual about this amazing opportunity and failed miserably.

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks, Nat. It should be you that’s going, though.’

  Natalie shook her head and pinned on a smile. Only a real cow would begrudge someone as nice and genuinely talented as Luke a break like this. ‘You deserve it, Luke,’ she assured him warmly.

  ‘I’m afraid it means…’

  ‘You won’t be able to come to the wedding with me,’ she completed, unable to totally disguise her dismay behind a sunny smile. ‘That’s fine, don’t worry,’ she added stoically.

  She wasn’t surprised that Luke had said yes; when Rafe asked hungry young executives like Luke they never said no. In fact, she brooded, people in general don’t say no to him…except me.

  These days she didn’t rate cosy chats with His Lordship, as the blue-blooded heir to a baronetcy was called—sometimes affectionately, sometimes not!—behind his back. Which just proves, she told herself wryly, that there is a bright side to having a career that’s going nowhere.

  On paper she and Luke had the same qualifications, they had even begun working at the top-notch management consulting firm within weeks of one another, but ten months on Luke had his own office and she was still sitting at the same desk doing routine stuff that she could have done asleep.

  Things weren’t likely to get better either. You didn’t get offered a chance at Ransome twice and Natalie had, after much soul-searching, refused hers. Luke, who hadn’t had to weigh his desire for promotion against the problems of child care, had not said no to his.

  The rest, as they said, was history. She’d made her choice; she didn’t consider herself a victim—lots of women managed to have high-flying careers and babies. Clearly she didn’t have what it took.

  ‘God, Nat, I’m really sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Natalie soothed a guilty-looking Luke. ‘It’s that man,’ she breathed, venom hardening her soft voice as she contemplated the grim prospect of attending the marriage of her ex to the glamorous Gabby without the support of a passable male to give the ego-bolstering illusion she had a well-rounded life. ‘I don’t suppose it even occurs to Rafael Ransome that some people actually have a life outside this place!’

  ‘Nat, he’s not that bad.’

  ‘Bad! The man’s a cold-blooded tyrant! I’m surprised he doesn’t make us sign our contracts in blood,’ she retorted with a resolute lack of objectivity. ‘Forget all that stuff you read about him in the glossy supplements,’ she advised Luke, imaginatively expanding her theme. ‘He might have turned this place into one of the top management consulting firms in Europe virtually overnight—the success of the nineties…’

  To Luke’s amusement she proceeded to dismiss one of the most spectacular financial successes of the decade with a disdainful sniff.

  ‘And have every top company beating a path to his door, but I’ve always reckoned he was born in the wrong century.’

  Luke looked amused. ‘Sounds like you’ve given the subject some thought?’

  ‘Not especially,’ Natalie responded hurriedly. ‘It’s just obvious that underneath the designer suits—’

  ‘You’ve not given that much thought either, I suppose.’

  ‘Most certainly not!’ Natalie denied, insulted by the suggestion she was in the habit of mentally undressing her boss.

  ‘Sure you haven’t. So what do you think goes on under his designer suits, Nat?’

  ‘I think there lurks the soul of a feudal, your-fate-is-in-his-hands type of despot. I can just see him now grinding the odd handful of peasants into the ground.’

  Her voice lost some of its crisp edge as an intrusive mental image to match her words flashed into her head. In her defence, Rafe Ransome, his well-developed muscular thighs covered by a pair of tight and most likely historically inaccurate breeches, was enough to put the odd weak quiver into the most objective of females’ voices.

  Unlike Natalie, most women were not normally objective about her employer’s looks; his mingled genes—Italian on his mother’s side and Scottish on his aristocratic father’s side—had given the man an entirely unfair advantage in the looks stakes.

  ‘Nat!’

  Natalie was too caught up in her historical re-enactment to hear the note of warning. ‘On his way to burn down his neighbours’ castle and ravish the local maidens…’

  Like the modern-day equivalent, his victims probably wouldn’t have put up much of a fight, she thought, contemplating with disapproval the inability of her own sex to see beyond a darkly perfect face of fallen angel and an in-your-face sensuality.

  It struck her as ironic, when you considered he was set to inherit a centuries-old title and the castle that went with it from his Scottish father, that Rafael Ransome, all six feet three of him—and most of it solid muscle—looked Latin from the top of his perfectly groomed glossy head to the tips of his expressive tapering fingers.

  Even she, who wasn’t into dark, dynamic, brooding types, had to admit that if you discounted his disconcertingly bright electric-blue eyes Rafael looked like most women’s idealised image of a classic Mediterranean male. Dark luxuriant hair that gleamed blue-black in some lights, golden skin stretched tautly over high chiselled cheekbones, and a wide, sensually moulded mobile mouth…just thinking about the cruel contours caused a shudder to ripple through her body and she hadn’t even got to his lean, athletic body!

  ‘Natalie!’

  It was Luke’s strangled whisper that finally made her lift her unfocused angry eyes from the computer screen, filled by now with row after row of angry exclamation marks.

  Oh, God!

  Even before Natalie heard the inimical deep mocking drawl the back of her neck started to prickle and her stomach gave a sickly lurch. Why, she wondered despairingly, hadn’t her selective internal radar, selective as in it only spookily zapped into life when His Lordship was in the vicinity, kicked in a few moments earlier?

  Her wide eyes sent an agonised question to Luke, who almost imperceptibly nodded.

  I must have done something really terrible in a previous life, she thought.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘EMPLOYMENT law being what it is these days, I generally have to satisfy myself with the odd formal written warning, Ms Warner.’

  As an alternative to ravishment?

  The unbidden image that accompanied her maverick and fortunately silent response made Natalie’s skin prickle with heat. She shook her head slightly as if to physically dislodge the breathless, tight feeling that made her head buzz. Being ravished, even hypothetically, by the owner of the most blatantly sensual lips she was ever likely to see was somewhere Natalie was not going.

  ‘See you, Nat! And good luck,’ Luke hissed.

  And I’ll need it, she thought wistfully, watching Luke making one of the fastest exits she’d ever seen—discretion obviously being the better part of valour as far as he was concerned, and who could blame him?

  Still, at least there would be nobody to see her grovel, she thought dully. She took a deep breath and, squaring her slender shou
lders, resolutely pushed aside a tide of self-pity that threatened to engulf her—she only had herself to blame. If you were going to bad-mouth your boss a sensible person took a few basic precautions first, such as checking he wasn’t within hearing distance!

  I can do humble…I can do humble, she silently mouthed. Even, she mentally added, if it chokes me! If I feel myself getting bolshy all I have to do, she told herself, is think about that enormous electricity bill I found sitting on the doormat yesterday.

  Maybe she was worrying over nothing—for all she knew he might see the funny side to this. Did dynamic workaholics have a sense of humour?

  Gripping the arm rests of her chair so hard her knuckles turned white, she slowly swivelled her chair and raised a weak smile. Underneath she felt the same prickly feeling of antagonism she always did when in his vicinity.

  ‘Oops! You weren’t meant to hear that.’ She heard with dismay a high-pitched giggle emerge from her lips. You’re meant to be upbeat, not manic, she berated herself silently. God, why do I always act like a total idiot when he’s around? Perhaps it was a case of doing what he expected? His attitude said he expected her to do something stupid, and she generally obliged—even if it was only tripping over her own feet!

  Rafe, his beautiful mouth set in a stern straight line, raised one dark, slanted brow; beneath his heavy, half-closed lids his eyes glittered like cold blue steel. He was looking down his aristocratic nose at her because, along with the fearfully smart brain and the incredible film-star looks, Rafael Ransome was also arrogant and élitist. With his pedigree, she reflected sourly, it was not to be wondered at.

  The silence was shredding her nerve endings. If he didn’t say something soon she might start confessing to stuff she hadn’t done! Say something even if it is sneery and sarky, she quietly muttered to herself.

  Her wish was almost immediately granted.

  ‘Such flights of fantasy, Ms Warner…’ he drawled in a voice that was both sneery and sarky enough to satisfy the most demanding consumer. ‘Should you ever decide to commit them to paper I have a publisher friend who would be happy to cast a professional eye over them.’

  Was that his way of saying she was in the wrong job? No, a brutal ‘you’re not up to it’ was more his style.

  ‘I really don’t think they’d be that interesting,’ she replied, quieting a fresh spasm of panic… Fantasy, he said—he couldn’t possibly know about the dreams. She broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about him being privy to her nocturnal fantasies. Not that she was going to start feeling guilty—a girl couldn’t be responsible for her subconscious.

  ‘Though if I’m going to be cast in the role of villain, litigation-wise it might be a sensible precaution if you changed a few details. Change of eye colour, make me a blond…’

  Giving his character a hint of human warmth would definitely work, she thought grimly—then nobody would recognise him! ‘It was a joke,’ she insisted hoarsely.

  Though if anyone had been born to fulfil the role of a ruthless criminal, she decided, sneaking a covert look through her lashes at his cold, classic profile, this was the man—it didn’t require much imagination to picture him in the role of the cold-eyed assassin who aimed a gun at his victim’s heart without any sign of emotion. Her own heart, perhaps in sympathy for the phantom victim, began to behave in an erratic manner, which made her feel breathless and a little light-headed.

  ‘If you find me such an oppressive monster,’ he mused, ignoring her hoarse interjection, ‘I’m surprised you’re still with us.’

  Appealing to his sense of humour had always been a long shot.

  ‘And at such a late hour, too…’ He glanced pointedly at the metal watch on his wrist. Natalie was almost as conscious of the light dusting of dark hair on his sinewed forearm as she was of the sarcasm in his voice. Her stomach did a slow backward flip. ‘Such dedication…’

  She felt the colour deepen in her already pink cheeks, the sarcastic implication that she did what she had to and nothing more had enough truth in it to make her angry and defensive.

  ‘I do what you pay me for,’ she returned, successfully keeping her growing antipathy from her voice. Her control didn’t stretch as far as her eyes but her antagonism did—it shone brightly in the clear depths.

  This fact was not lost on Rafe, who was not displeased by the results of his calculated baiting. He reasoned that she’d eventually have to defend herself and then he might finally learn the real reason that she’d knocked back his promotion offer. He hadn’t swallowed the lame ‘I don’t feel I’m ready’ for a second.

  ‘And not a jot more,’ he completed smoothly.

  Natalie’s bosom swelled; smug, hateful pig! It was becoming increasingly difficult to recall her resolve to take what he threw at her and smile. I’d like to see him cope with the demands of a child and work for just twenty-four hours, she challenged mentally, allowing her gaze to sweep with simmering resentment over his tall, immaculate figure.

  She exhaled noisily and tried to take control of her erratic breathing.

  ‘Have you had any complaints about my work?’ she demanded, quietly confident on this point at least. Sure, she was frequently frustrated by her inability to put more hours in at the workplace, but she also knew that she actually contributed as much and more than other people doing the same job as herself—she earned her salary.

  Something that looked like amusement appeared in his eyes but it was gone so quickly and it seemed so unlikely that Natalie assumed she’d been imagining it.

  ‘On the contrary.’ One corner of his mobile mouth dropped as his eyes moved over her tense figure. ‘Everyone goes out of their way to cover for you.’

  In reality the simple fact was that if Natalie Warner’s work hadn’t been adequate she wouldn’t still be at Ransome. Margaret had been right about one thing: Rafe was not sentimental about such things—when such a lot had been riding on his making a success of Ransome, he couldn’t afford to be.

  Quite a few people had known his own father had been behind the damaging rumours that had circulated just after the launch of Ransome, but he was the only one who knew the reason behind the old man’s actions.

  ‘If you’re so damned confident how about a wager?’ James Ransome had suggested when his only son had remained unmoved by the direst of his threats. ‘Put your money where your mouth is, boy. If you don’t make a go of it within twelve months you’ll quit this nonsense and come home to run the estate.’

  ‘Twelve months!’

  ‘Well, if you don’t think you’re up to it, boy?’

  Failure had not been an option.

  When he looked at Natalie Warner, he saw potential going to waste—actually it wasn’t the only thing he saw, but it was the only thing that had any relevance in the workplace.

  ‘I don’t need anyone to cover for me,’ she gritted.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, you’re to be congratulated.’ Natalie’s teeth clenched at the patronising drawl, which it seemed to her he kept just for her and bad weather. ‘Overplaying the single-parent card could have caused resentment amongst your childless colleagues, but you seem to have the balance just right…plucky, but fragile.’

  Not so fragile that she couldn’t land a pretty good punch if you stepped out of line—she sure as hell looked as if that was what she wanted to do right now. At least that would be some sort of reaction, and preferable to the meek and mild, fade-into-the-background, yes-sir–no-sir attitude she had adopted even before she’d refused the promotion offer.

  The line between his dark brows deepened as he compared this Natalie with the one who had arrived bubbling with enthusiasm and raw talent, displaying a fresh and exciting approach and causing ripples with her willingness to speak out of turn.

  The sheer injustice of his accusation stunned Natalie into silence. Chin up, she met his scornful scrutiny head-on and refused to respond to the provocation. To her surprise it was Rafe who dropped his gaze first.

  ‘For God’s sake
, woman,’ he snapped irritably. ‘You look terrible. Do you even own a mirror?’

  Aware that her automatic female response to his criticism had been to lift a hand to her hair, Natalie frowned and pulled it angrily back to her lap. Rafe Ransome thinks I’m a dog… This should come as no great surprise—she’d seen the type he dated. A man who could probably emerge from a hurricane without a hair out of place was never going to feel anything but disgust for someone who looked messy as soon as she walked out of the door.

  The unexpected urge she felt to burst into tears just went to prove she had more vanity left than she had thought.

  ‘Well, you’ve no room to talk!’ Rafe looked so astounded by her sharp retort that Natalie almost laughed. It was probably the first time in his life anyone had implied there was any fault in his appearance. He might be a nicer person if they had, and he might be a little more tolerant of those who didn’t possess his physical perfection—like her!

  ‘When did you last shave?’ she demanded with a disdainful nod towards the dark, incriminating shadow. Actually the look of dangerous dissipation it lent him was not unattractive.

  Rafe lifted a hand to his jaw and looked amused. ‘I had an early start,’ he admitted.

  ‘That’s fine, because I don’t judge people on appearances,’ she informed him piously. ‘And, just for the record, I hardly think my looks or lack of them are relevant to my ability to do my job.’ And until you drew attention to it I hadn’t even thought about the way I looked, she thought, angling a look of seething dislike up at his face.

  Not true, the irritating voice of honesty in her head piped up—you started thinking about the way you looked the moment you saw him. It was at times like this, she thought with a sigh, that self-deception was infinitely preferable to the truth. Not that there was any sinister significance in her bizarre reactions to his presence, neither was it unique she’d seen the way other women in the building acted when he was around—God, but it must be awful to be married to someone all other women regarded with lust.