Her Italian Boss

by Lynne Graham

  ‘Have it in for you?’ he echoed incredulously. His narrowed eyes homed in on the accusing finger she was waving in front of his nose and with a grunt of sheer exasperation he caught the offending digit and, folding it into her palm, covered her small fist firmly with his own. Her hand was lost within his.

  His grasp was firm but not constricting; Natalie could have pulled away, but she didn’t. The blood drained from her face as, almost fearfully, she stared at the long, elegant fingers that looked very dark curled against her fair skin. Illogically the contrast excited her…a furtive excitement that she dared not admit even to herself.

  His thumb began to move against the blue-veined inner aspect of her wrist and she let out a sharp gasp. A heat that began low in her belly suddenly flared hot and spread through her body invading every cell with a strange, enervating weakness. She raised her shocked eyes and Rafe smiled, a smile that held a terrifying mixture of sexual speculation and understanding as if he knew exactly how she was feeling. Well, at least one of us does.

  ‘I was meant to be overcome with gratitude—’ Natalie could barely hear her own hoarse whisper above the heavy throbbing beat of her heart.

  ‘Gratitude…? You…?’ he interjected with a wry laugh. ‘I’m not that unrealistic.’

  She continued as though he hadn’t spoken. ‘And I said no.’ His skin was cool against her overheated flesh and there was controlled strength in his light touch that she found deeply exciting. ‘You took it as a personal insult, that’s why I’ve been given every crummy job going!’ The moment the words were out of her mouth she wished them unsaid.

  Determined not to lay herself open to an accusation of asking for preferential treatment, Natalie had consistently refused to complain…until now.

  With an angry cry she wrenched her fingers away from his grasp and, covering them with her uncontaminated hand, nursed them against her chest.

  ‘Personal…!’ A feral smile illuminated the darkness of his face. He could have told her about personal—personal was wanting to take her face between his hands before kissing her senseless, the kind of kiss that might go some way to relieve a little of the frustration being around her filled him with. The errant nerve in his lean cheek began to pulse erratically as he visualised the pleasure of her willingly opening her lips to offer his tongue access to the soft sweetness of her mouth. His body reacted to the erotic imagery that filled his mind with all the subtlety and control of an adolescent boy.

  Natalie was almost relieved when he frowned and suddenly barked, ‘And what do you mean every crummy job going?’ For a moment there the way he was looking at her had been almost frightening—not that she could ever have been physically scared of him, but there had been a combustible quality to his fixed stare that had been deeply unsettling.

  By way of reply Natalie picked up a pile of documents from her desk and held them out to him. ‘The perfect cure for insomnia,’ she promised him.

  ‘I don’t suffer from it,’ Rafael replied as he took them from her. He didn’t look at them or—much to her relief—appear to notice when she snatched her hand away as if scalded when their fingertips accidentally brushed. ‘I’m sorry if you feel your talents are being underused,’ he replied, replacing the stack on her desk. He was detecting Maggie’s handiwork here.

  ‘Do you think I have any?’ she exclaimed in mock amazement.

  ‘You have a remarkable talent for making me lose my temper,’ he told her drily. ‘As for personal, you underestimate my ego…I have it on excellent authority that it is Teflon-coated.’ The memory was one that seemed to entertain him—at least his expression had lost some of the edginess of a few moments ago that had made her feel uneasy. ‘Apparently nothing short of a nuclear explosion could dent it.’

  Natalie would have liked to meet the person who was daring and perceptive enough to tell him this to his face.

  ‘My mother.’

  Natalie’s eyelashes swept down as she averted her gaze from his face; either she was awfully obvious or he was scarily perceptive. With my luck probably both, she concluded wryly.

  ‘I hate to disappoint you, Natalie, but my job is to look at the big picture. I have neither the time or the inclination to exact revenge upon some junior members of staff with a lack of ambition.’

  Well, that puts me firmly in my place, she thought bleakly. This seemed as good a time as any to remind herself that her position in the scheme of things at least at Ransome was a small and insignificant cog.

  ‘I have ambition,’ pride made her insist stubbornly. She lowered her eyes. ‘But I also have other responsibilities,’ she admitted with a rush. Her head came up. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m asking for any special favours.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Natalie was perplexed by his unexpected response. ‘Oh, sure, you’re really geared up to parents…’

  Rafe inhaled sharply and his hard-boned face darkened with annoyance. ‘I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect the people I employ to be capable of sorting out their personal lives without my unwanted interference, but that doesn’t mean I’m unsympathetic when there’s a problem.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone would want to invite you home to tea…’ If they were talking beds she might be on shaky ground. The thought of the female staff who lusted after their good-looking boss brought a disgruntled frown to her smooth brow. ‘But something as basic as a crèche and more flexible working hours might be appreciated.’

  If she ever heard Mandy, his PA’s scheme for a back-to-work package for new mums that included a voucher for a health spa he was in serious trouble! ‘And you, I suppose, have been nominated to speak on behalf of this dissatisfied section of the workforce?’ he interrupted smoothly.

  ‘Not exactly,’ she conceded, shifting her weight from one foot to the other under his ironic gaze. Not only did he make her feel like a gauche schoolgirl, now she was acting like one, too, she thought, only just stopping herself before she began to chew on a loose strand of hair—she hadn’t done that since she was twelve, but at twelve she hadn’t needed to distract herself from tender breasts that ached and tingled as they chafed against the fabric of her thin top.

  Her chin lifted. ‘A happier workforce makes for a more productive workforce…’ she began defensively.

  ‘Well, that’s just fascinating. Have you any other little gems of management theory you’d like to share…any other little pearls of wisdom? You know I really ought to introduce you to the guy who drove me to the airport last week—he had some great ideas about how to run the country.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WHY am I even trying? Natalie wondered. The man is never going to take advice from anyone, least of all me. Hell, he made it pretty clear that I’m too low down the pecking order to even approach him directly!

  Even now the memory of Rafe’s bored, ‘Send my PA a memo, Ms Warner,’ had the power to send a flush of mortification over her skin. It had been especially hurtful because before that he had seemed perfectly happy when she’d approached him; in fact she had found herself looking forward to their conversations as the highlights of her days.

  She had been deluded enough to think they’d been friends, and had even—God, she cringed to think about it now!—spun romantic little fantasies about them being more. That was why him cutting her dead publicly had hurt so much. Since then she had always been guarded and circumspect in front of him…until today!

  People had been very sympathetic, assuring her they’d never seen him act like that before; the popular theory was he must have been crossed in love. This explanation didn’t seem at all likely to Natalie as he seemed to change the women in his life almost as frequently as he did his shirts and, as far as she could tell, with about the same degree of emotional attachment.

  ‘There’s no need to be so damned patronising!’ she exploded. ‘I don’t suppose it’s your fault,’ she added bitterly. ‘It’s probably genetic.’ The same genes that had made him the most physically perfect specimen of manhoo
d imaginable had also made him an élitist sod. ‘God, I bet you hate children!’ sheer frustration made her accuse wildly.

  ‘Genetically impossible. My mother is Venetian and the—’

  ‘I know your mother is Italian!’ she snapped. ‘Everybody knows that,’ she added quickly—the last thing she wanted was him to run away with the idea she took a personal interest in him. ‘You’re famous.’

  Rafe had heard people say serial killer with the same distaste Natalie Warner managed to inject in ‘famous’.

  ‘My mother’s family come from Venice. I make the distinction because she likes to—it’s a regional pride thing. As I was about to say, the Italians adore children. I have a nephew and several godchildren…’

  ‘And you think that makes you an expert?’ Natalie laughed, blinking to clear her head of the image of Rafe with a golden-skinned baby in his arms…the irony was she had no doubt Rafe would be as exceptional at fatherhood as he was at everything else. In short, he’d be the sort of dad that Rose would never have. The thought brought an uneasy mixture of guilt, sadness and envy—envy…? Her smooth brow wrinkled as alarm shot through her. ‘You’ll find being a parent is quite different,’ she told him with a superior sniff.

  ‘I have no plans to find out any time soon, but you may be sure that when I do have a child I will be financially able to support a family and in a stable relationship.’

  ‘Unlike me, you mean.’

  ‘I have no idea of your personal circumstances.’ Except that most of the unmarried men in the building would like to change them—and a number of the married ones, too, he thought grimly.

  Natalie smiled. ‘True, but don’t let that stop you making judgement calls, will you?’ Dark colour appeared across the crest of his sharply defined cheekbones; she was pleased to see that her jibe had found its mark.

  ‘A child needs two parents.’

  Natalie released an incredulous laugh…he thinks I need telling this? ‘Did you read that somewhere or is this original thought we are hearing?’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘And what will you do if the other half of this stable relationship decides that she isn’t ready after all for parenthood…or, for that matter, marriage? What if she packs her bags and says she has to leave because living with you is stifling h…her artistic creativity? That…she doesn’t love you any more and thinks maybe he never did!’

  Natalie froze in horror as the lengthening silence continued to echo with the acrid bitterness of her last throbbing announcement. She was totally aghast at what she had said.

  Why not just strip your soul bare, Natalie? Oh, I forgot, you already did! Her head sank to her chest as she closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see what he was going to make of that. Her performance amounted to handing your enemy a loaded gun. Rafe being the enemy and this being war?

  War…? The analogy struck her immediately as being on the extreme side. Why when Rafe was involved did she lose all sense of proportion—why did she go off the deep end so dramatically? Was this just a clash of personalities or was it a symptom of something much worse?

  ‘I think I would consider myself well rid of such an idiot.’

  Natalie was startled by this objective pronouncement, and her troubled gaze fluttered to his face. The bad news was he had seen through her hypothetical scenario; the good news was that nothing resembled the ‘pity poor dumped wife’ expression she hated so much in his face.

  She gave a sigh—under the circumstances there didn’t seem much point continuing the pretence. ‘It wasn’t really Mike’s fault,’ she protested. ‘We were too young, and before we got married him being an artist unwilling to sacrifice his artistic integrity seemed quite romantic.’ It had seemed a lot less desirable when they’d had rent to pay.

  A spasm of distaste contorted Rafael’s austerely handsome features—in his eyes a man who deserted a wife and young child was the lowest of the low.

  ‘My God, I never took you for one of those pathetic females who defend the shiftless bastards who abuse and leave them!’

  The lashing virulence of the anger in his voice took her aback almost as much as his accusation. It seemed she wasn’t the only one in danger of going off the deep end.

  ‘Mike wasn’t abusive!’ she protested. Her slender shoulders lifted. ‘Just immature,’ she judged generously.

  Rafael raked a hand through his dark hair and gave vent to his feelings in a flood of musical Italian. It was the first time she had heard him revert to his mother’s native tongue and, even though she doubted if the passionate invective translated into anything she’d like to hear, Natalie was spellbound.

  Italian was not only beautiful to listen to, it was a very passionate language, she thought as his words flowed over her, smooth as warm honey. Did people who were bilingual find one language more appropriate than another for different activities…say English was good for booking theatre seats and Italian might be better for, say, making love?

  ‘And I’m not pathetic,’ she asserted, her voice rising to a panicky pitch as she tried to dispel from her head the shocking image of pale limbs entwined with dark gold. She closed her eyes in disgust and opened them with a snap when she felt the light touch of his fingers slide over the curve of her jaw. Her startled gaze collided head-on with burning blue eyes.

  Natalie was too shocked by the casual physical contact to do anything but stare wide-eyed back at him like a night creature caught in the glare of headlights—and any headlights paled into insignificance beside his compelling cerulean gaze. There was no respite, no place to hide from the raking scrutiny of his lustrously lashed eyes.

  Her lashes fluttered as the corners of his sternly beautiful mouth lifted; the action lessened the severity of his expression quite dramatically. His smile could have melted stone and Natalie’s heart was not made of stone, and, though she liked to pretend otherwise, neither was it immune to this man’s charismatic charm.

  ‘No, not pathetic.’ The half-smile reached his eyes and Natalie felt bathed in the warm glow of his approval…this was ridiculous!

  It’s not as if I care what he thinks of me! she thought. Care or not, she was mightily relieved when his hand fell back to his side. Are you so sure about that, Nat? Isn’t there some secret part of you that wanted to prolong the contact…?

  Rafe saw the tiny negative shake of her head and raised an interrogative brow.

  The fight abruptly drained out of Natalie, leaving her feeling too weary to sustain her anger or resistance—Rafe was the most exhausting man to be around for any period of time. Or for that matter to be around period!

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re going to sack me or something get on with it.’ She sighed, wearily sinking back into her chair.

  She would have spun away from him but Rafe caught the back of her chair and turned it back towards him. Hands on the arm rests, his body curved over hers, he was an extremely big, powerful man and the action could have been intimidating, but it wasn’t—it was exciting.

  Natalie pressed a nervous hand to her neck. She could feel the dull vibration of her heartbeat in the hollow at the base of her throat. She was discovering that underneath his northern Celtic cool Rafe Ransome had inherited more of his mother’s volatile Latin temperament than she had suspected. She might have been able to predict what Rafe would do in a given situation, but not Rafael, and the man who towered above her looked all Rafael.

  ‘Or something.’

  Natalie, who had forgotten what she’d said, didn’t respond to the husky murmur. He was so close now that she could see the fine lines radiating from the corners of his eyes and the gold tips on the ends of his long sooty eyelashes. Through the dark concealing mesh she could see the shimmering summer-blue of his eyes. The tension in the air was so pronounced that she could almost see the invisible barrier that stood between them.

  He appeared to be breathing hard; she could hear the soft, sibilant hiss of each inhalation and feel the intimate warmth of his breath whisper along her forehead and across th
e curve of her cheek. She found herself wondering what the texture of the dark shadow that emphasised the hollows of his cheeks and ran along his angular jaw would feel like if she ran her fingers over it… The achy, empty feeling low in her belly intensified as, unable to trust herself, she locked her fingers together tightly to prevent them doing something she’d regret.

  He had angled his dark head so that the fragrant warmth now fell directly against her parted lips. The possibility he was going to kiss her no longer seemed so remote. Dizzy with anticipation, Natalie stopped breathing and closed her eyes.

  It seemed like a long time later that his lips finally brushed against hers; Natalie’s body stiffened, then relaxed. The pressure was light. It wasn’t a lightness that could in any way have been construed as accidental; this was a leave-you-wanting-more, mind-blowingly erotic lightness.

  And his technique worked. It worked like a dream. Maybe it was a dream…that was the only place she’d been kissed in a long time. She half wished it were a dream; people could behave irresponsibly in dreams and there were no consequences.

  If this is a dream, don’t let me wake up just yet.

  ‘You’re going to hate me in the morning,’ he predicted throatily as his mouth moved with tantalising slowness down the slender curve of her throat.

  ‘I already do,’ she rebutted huskily.

  ‘How much?’ he asked, kissing her closed eyelids.

  ‘You talk too much,’ she complained.

  Rafe laughed huskily, but there was nothing amused about his taut, driven expression. She looked into his smoky eyes and whimpered as his teeth gently tugged at the soft flesh of her lower lip. She bit him back and felt the purr of husky laughter in his throat.